proper use of a coma

My mom is pretty darn close to being the bionic woman. After having a hip, and both knees replaced, a shoulder repaired, an ankle rebuilt, 4 weeks ago she had her left foot rebuilt. After years of working on her very flat feet as a nurse, her foot finally just said "enough already!" and collapsed on her. That's right, collapsed. Bone, tissue and all.

Trying to maintain my status as "favored" child is a tough gig. Every once in a while I have to do extra nice stuff. Like giving her decorating ideas such as getting rid of the cast iron, orange plastic medieval replica chandelier in her stairway and replacing it with a neo-colonial, two-tiered, brushed nickel, frosted glass beauty.

A couple weeks ago, partly out of guilt that the burden has rested solely on my sister's shoulders, I went to visit mom. She was staying in a nursing home that's right between my aunt and sister's house. Though she's non-weight bearing and could get around on crutches, because of all the other surgeries AND the fact that she's got another condition that has caused nerve damage in her legs, she can't get around without help. And at that moment it was being done, however so ineptly, by the nursing staff.

I basically grew up in a nursing home. Mom has always worked in one. Mostly at the one in the town where I grew up when I was young. Plus, in my grandma's later years, she lived in the home where my mom worked. So after school and on weekends, when I was young, I would ride my bike over to the home and visit and cuddle up with grandma in her bed.

It wasn't a depressing place to me then because mom and grandma were both there. And being the youngest grandchild, I was grandma's favorite. (the youngest was always her favorite and I just happened to be the last of 14 of them.)

But it's been over 10 years since I stepped foot in a nursing home. And this place that mom is staying in is just depressing as hell.

All around the nurses station and along the halls are parked wheelchairs with half-slumped bodies in them. No one talking to them. No stimulation except for the constant beeping of call lights that never seem to get answered.

I can't help but imagine what the lives of these folks used to be like. These people had dining rooms with tables and probably a hutch filled with the china and silver they'd collected over the years. They had living rooms and family rooms. They celebrated birthday parties for their children, they had family over for Christmas and thanksgiving. They had bedrooms with family pictures and the bedroom set they bought years ago.

They raised families and hopefully raised them well.

Guessing by how expensive this nursing home was, they probably did a pretty good job if their kids can afford to put them there.

But I can't imagine how any child could walk into this place, see the masses of elderly people hunched over in their chairs and think, "yeah, this looks like a good place to store mom."

These people deserve better than this. These were the people who were young adults during WWII. These were the people who helped make our country what it is. And now they're shoved in a hallway... Waiting to die.

Having no children of my own, plus being the youngest child of the youngest sibling in my mom's family. (my eldest cousin is 20 years older than me) it's probably likely that if I make it to old age, most of my family will be dead and gone. And who will take care of me? Who will be my advocate?

I hope that I don't get to that point, but given my families medical history, it's likely that I won't be able to take care of myself.

I hope that I simply slip into a coma. And I hope that someone puts headphones on me and plays Mozart and children's choir all day long. I hope I'm in a happy place and surrounded by loved ones. I hope that my life will have had some positive impact on the world and that I won't be left to rot, slumped over in a wheelchair.

annoying

Since I've fallen so tragically from the blogger horse, I'll begin to take baby steps to getting back into the writing saddle. (HA! "writing"... like "riding." I'm way to easily amused)

I often like to think of myself as infallable. Who doesn't? However, I realize that there are things I do that annoy other folks. And in the spirit of honesty and candor, I openly share them here. That way, if we strangers should ever meet, you'll be fairly warned.

I place them in two categories: "Things I can help" and "Things I can't help."

Things I Can Help:

• When even the slightest bit dehydrated, I tend to clear my throat. A lot.
• I tend to spend a long time in the bathroom. It's my reading time.
• My laugh can be loud and obnoxious.
• Often, I unconsciously hum along to music... but not the melody. I harmonize.
• My stories don't always get to the point right away.
• I drive like a grandma.
• I eat really fast.
• I don't return e-mails or phone calls promptly. Or sometimes ever.
• I tend to be a neat freak.
• I like to be right.
• My posture is not always the best.
• I pick my nose.

Thing I Can't Help.

• Not only do I spend a lot of time in the loo, I tend to use it a lot. Now this may fall into the category of "things I can help" if I would regulate my diet better, but I just go when the bowels say "Go!".
• I smack my lips when I sleep.

So there. Be warned. Even though I can help most of the things in the top list, I doubt much will change about it. I do try to hydrate at the first sign of throat clearing and I've been working on the "always need to be right thing", but I don't think driving like a grandma is a bad thing. I get motion sickness and people who drive crazy make me car sick. And I'm addicted to my nose. I always tend to feel a sence of accomplishmet and satisfaction when I get a really good booger. Especially if it's one I really had to dig for.

I do, however, try to do it only in my car or in the loo.

OK. That's all for now.