Mom continues to be up and down, and in spite of making actual progress with her walking, is now swooning and willfully collapsing while loudly declaring she is going to throw up / have a heart attack / die on the spot.
She fluctuates between being afraid she is dying to wanting to die to being cheerful and rather chipper. Rumor has it she even flirted with a handsome young doctor the other day. (I would assume her teeth were in that morning.)
Short mom anecdote: taking a 2 minute wheelchair break in the middle of walker-lurching down the hall today, Mom looked up at the two lovely, young, earnest therapists who are accompanying her and asks "Why do I feel so fucking awful?"
"Sylvia" one of them cautioned, "Remember what we said about the cursing?"
Mom: "That it might upset some of the other residents?" They nod, pleased. Mom takes a perfect thoughtful pause. Then adds: "Fuck 'em."
Tomorrow they transfer her to the sub-acute rehab facility where hopefully an equally earnest and helpful staff will continue to harangue and cajole her into reasonable shape to go home within another few weeks.
Because I don't known how much more of this shit I can take.
Also in honor of Wordless Wednesday (even though I am clearly being wordy) a picture of flowers:
These are from the grounds of place where Ethan goes to summer (day) camp in the city. Taken because I spent some time yesterday running around like a headless chicken and picking up and dropping off overdue paperwork with schools and camps and doctor's offices all over the Upper West Side.
I really have no excuse for the need for this. In sprite of having been a successful and highly organized producer for many years, I apparently now possess the executive functioning skills of your average fruit bat.
Whether this is actual ADD or just my aging peri-menopausal brain remains to be seen.
To quote my eloquent mother: Fuck it!