My mother is sick...again. A cough turned into brochitis? the flu? a bad cold? pneumonia? I don't know. It's bad though. How bad? Not sure. If I were to judge solely from the sound effects, then I'd have to say really bad--like she should probably be quarantined. Problem is, she's staying with me.
Mom has NEVER been one to suffer in silence. "Oh, God. Oh, God" cough. cough. cough. "Oh, no. Oh, no." hack. hack. hack. "Oh, Lord save me. No more. No more!"
"What can I get you , Mom?"
"Nothing darling..."
and 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...
"Do you have any apple juice? Feel my head, do I have a fever? Do I look swollen? Oh, God. Oh, God." cough. cough. cough. "I'm so sorry darling. Can you hand me some tissue? What channel is E!? Is the guy Madonna's fooling around with the same guy whose marriage she broke up? Can you make me some soup? What are you wearing? Where's the Tylenol?" And then playing favorites with my dogs, "Weezie honey, Grandma loves you, but get off me. I don't want to make you sick, too. No kisses. WEEZIE, go away. George, come lay with Grandma."
It's been A WEEK now. She's been to two doctors. She's on lots of drugs. She is getting older and things take longer to heal. And it's a trip. Watching my mother grow old. Becoming her caregiver. It's all a trip.
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