Valley of the Shadow of Death

My mother has been in constant pain for awhile now.  She is up all night moaning and taking pills.  It keeps me awake.  Last night, she said she couldn't take it anymore.  She wanted to go to the E.R.  She said she was ready for extended care.  I called 911.  When I got to the hospital, she was sitting in a wheelchair in the waiting room.  I am good at knowing anger never helps a situation, but I blew up.  Then people started scrambling, explaining, and they moved her to what can only be described as a veal pen where we sat for two hours.  Finally a 12 year old doctor came in.  I explained.  He said he would get her something for pain and order a CT scan.  In a little while, a man came in and put an IV in her arm and took her for the scan.  But when they brought her back, they sat us in the E.R. waiting room where we waited for another hour.  Eventually, they moved her to a little E.R. room in a maze of hallways lined with other rooms.  We'd been here before. 

When the door opened, a tall very pretty blonde walked in.  

"I remember you," she said.  And she did.  She remembered everything about my mother's last visit a month before.  She remembered the falls, the trouble with her broken wrist which was not the reason for her visit.  I had loved her then.  I loved her more now.  She was very gentle and calm and kind.  She brought in a drug for nausea and then the morphine.  My mother, already less than lucid, began to get loopy, but she was still in pain.  Without my knowing it, she pushed the call button a couple times.  The nurse always came in and responded gently to my mother's pleas.  She said she needed to pee.  The nurse asked if she wanted to get up and go to the bathroom.  

"Oh, no!" my mother said.  She accepted the offer of a catheter.  It was nearly midnight.  The nurse told me that my mother was going to be admitted and taken to a room in a ward upstairs.  There was nothing more I could do, so I told my mother I would see her in the morning.  Then I said to the nurse, "I will probably never see you again, but you are a very kind person and I will always appreciate it.  Thank you."

"Oh. . . you never know," she said.  

Driving back to my mother's house was strange, my mind going through all the things that needed to be done. It was even stranger walking into the house without my mother.  I looked around and realized she probably would never see her things again.  That is when I broke down.  I poured some whiskey and took a double dose of Xanax.  It was after one when I went to bed. 

The breakdown continues.  I slept for about five hours.  There is MUCH to take care of today.  I feel frazzled, disconnected, unfocussed.  I feel some illness in my throat and chest.  The day will be a struggle.  I will probably move back to my house, but that is a bigger job than I thought.  

Thus begins the Journey of Misery through The Valley of the Shadow of Death.  I must get myself together.  I am on my own.  I'm going to need to man up.