Up in Smoke

It’s day 8 now with Mom in the hospital and me making it a second home. A week ago yesterday that we almost lost her. Hoping this is her week to go home, but that depends on her white blood cell count coming down.

They say nurses are the worst patients and I understand why. They have a lot of insight into what’s going on, ask lots more questions than “normal” people, and think they know what’s best, often refusing to do what is ordered.

With Mom, it’s little things that make a big difference. For instance, her bed position. She keeps wanting it flat when she should be on at least a 30-degree elevation. Her lungs have fluid in them, so being flat only makes it harder to breathe. Does she listen? No. She just keeps readjusting her bed.

Me, I’m stuck between being a pain in the ass and doing what’s best for Mom. Be easier if she was in a coma, I think.

Then there’s the big smoking issue. Do I do as my sister suggests, clean the house of all ashtrays and throw away all the cigarettes? Febreeze the living shit out of everything? Because Mom keeps saying how much she wants a smoke, and I’m thinking that’s just what she needs. Not. It’s been 8 days since she had a smoke. Her body is detoxed, as they say. At this point the desire is all mental.

And am I ready to quit myself? Anxious and stressed as I am, I don’t think so. But I can’t really expect Mom to quit if I don’t. Ugh. I know if someone threw away my cigs against my will I’d be pissed. But should I care? Tossing away all the smokes would be a healthy thing. It’s the smoking that is causing some of the troubles she’s facing right now with her breathing and lungs.

When you consider everything, especially that her husband died of lung cancer 6 years ago, it seems retarded that she still smokes. Me, too. I helped take care of him those last months and it wasn’t pretty.

Fuck. I’m an asshole if I toss ‘em all, I’m an asshole if I don’t. In the meantime, there’s a reprieve because Mom isn’t going home today. Or tomorrow. She isn’t strong enough to even make it downstairs to smoke outside here.

But soon. She is walking slowly up and down the halls. Just a matter of time.

Everything and every decision seems a ginormous task right now. Checking the mail, getting the morning paper, calling people, picking up more baby powder from the store. It’s all draining. Add to that the fact that I’m supposed to eat three meals a day. Ugh.

Speaking of which, it’s lunchtime. Mom’s tray is here, the food growing cold while she sleeps. I should wake her and get her eating, then head down to the cafeteria to get myself something.

Mmm. Hospital food.

(written on my iPhone so pardon the errors)