Pop’s in and out of consciousness. I’m heading home, and I’ve watched as mother has melted two or three times. The problem is coping mechanisms. But as I was explaining, “The surgeons, they were cutting up, before they went in.”
Seven to ten days in ICU then, maybe, a change.
There’s a very telling story about my mother. The doors to get into the particular ICU area are two, wide, outward swinging doors. The doors are automated, presumably to facilitate wheeling patients along on life-supporting gurneys and whatnot. The doors have a big sign, “Automated doors, use button, stand back, doors swing outward.” Or something like that.
My mother, repeatedly, has tried to push her way through those doors. I had to grab her arm and reel her back out of the way, more than once.
Force of will is one thing, but gateway? Can’t argue with it.
“What are you eating?”
“Sandwich, from the icebox.”
“Your sister left that for me, it’s vegetarian.”
“Ah yes, no wonder there was no flavor.”
Later last night:
“If you don’t shut the door properly on that icebox? The ice cream gets soft.”
We all have coping mechanisms. Me? A double on the rocks – two shots of espresso over lots of ice.