Wednesday, Dec. 13, 2006
Dear Diary:

My mom-in-law continues to beat death off with her slipper.

Her Slipper-Fu is strong. She's a black belt in Slipper-Fu. But there's a reason why you don't see Jackie Chan using Slipper-Fu in his movies ....

Her doctor had the life support chat a few days ago and she's taken that option off the table. For someone who's fighting as hard as she is, who's trying every option, it's a generous gift to us, her caregivers.

You only hear my voice when I talk about her care, but my contribution is mere piffle compared to that of the spousal unit's oldest brother. He has been living with her since the spring, spending every night at her home so she was never alone in the darkness.

We continue to split her care along those lines and he relieves me at the hospital after work to take the night watch. The spousal unit goes in very early in the morning and I relieve him mid-morning. My days have settled into a simple routine now.

They moved my mom-in-law into a semi-private room two days ago. I thought it would be quieter than the bustle of the Emergency observation ward, but I thought wrong. Hospitals are bustling, clangy places. There's really no quiet in a hospital during daylight hours.

Our roommate is a rowdy guy with one leg who flirts outrageously with the nurses and loves to brag about his prowess as a hunter. He's never in the room and spends his days wheeling around the hospital on a busy social whirl since he knows a lot of the other patients. He's a diabetic who needs constant blood sugar monitoring, so his peregrinations are driving the nurses mental.

It's kind of a Keystone Cops situation, one exuberant guy in a wheelchair being chased around the building by a bunch of people in uniforms.

Comic relief in a hospital. Who knew?

There was a point yesterday afternoon when I thought that my mom-in-law might have lapsed into a coma because she didn't awake for a few hours. The girlfriend of the spousal unit's middle brother bustled into the room and started cutting my mom-in-law's fingernails, brattling on about how she'd make her as beautiful as she's always been.

The woman wants to help, and I know that, but she and I have always had a sort of oil and water thing happening. As an added bonus, it's in her nature to try to organize things. Her connection to the family has been five years, but there's been many sparks with my mom-in-law.

I'm working on my last nerve right now, and that nerve is only microns thick. If you find me a little hard to understand, it's because I've bitten my tongue so hard so many times lately in this woman's presence.

I may need a tongue transplant when this is over.

Anyhow, in the middle of the prattling, when I was just about to scream, "Shut UP or you're going to find yourself in a shallow grave in the woods", my mom-in-law managed to half open her eyes. She scanned the room looking for me, made sure she caught my eye. Then she rolled her eyes slightly and very slowly her lids lowered down.

Elvis is still in the building, as feisty as ever. In a heartbeat I went from homicidal rage to being barely able to keep a straight face.

I love it that my daughter has some of this woman's DNA.

--Marn

Old Drivel - New Drivel


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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.