When you work so hard keeping someone alive it's like you disappear, crawling under their skin, looking out through their sweaty pores.
Not only do I have dementia but now I have pneumonia which is a hard word to spell after 11 pm.
The only good thing about a mom with a double dire sickness is I get to see a parade of people I love. People just stop by. My little niece with the surgery hobbles in. My neighbor Julia who is a preschool alumni mom brings me an orange. My other parents show up with warm bread in the rain. I like these faces. Even for someone who works alone, likes time alone to make sense of things in order to write, it helps to have surprise faces when you are with your dying mother. Dying for 4 years now and trying very hard to not have her die in this dramatic wheezing way right now.
Pneumonia slithers in with a wide innocent face, I'm just a cough. Relaxxxxx. Then it prongs its fingers into lungs and snaps them closed like a zip tie and closes its eyes tight and will not let go. Try and shake me out of here, caring surrounding humans.
So nurses are called. Meds are trucked in. Squirted in. Vapored in. Pillows are back boosters for breath. What am I not thinking of. Why does she sound like that. I don't like that sound. What can make this stop and go away.
The mom inside of the illness is looking out at us trusting us. She's calm in there, despite the breathing issue. She takes my hand and holds it to her cheek. She says thank you. She smiles at the dog, and the grandson. Her eyes are trusting us.
Of course we do everything. We rush to do everything like a tornado because her bad chest sound is like a terrible clock ticking down.
If she weren't so sick I would be enjoying the getting in bed and watching bad live action disney movies from the 70's where Jodie Foster looks just like my fake nephew Noah. I love time with my mom. Getting to crawl in bed with your mom and have her fall asleep is the most comforting thing ever. Just not with pneumonia. The fluid chokes our good time. It is a boggy river of death.
Seven days now so I have gone through the shock of what happens if
I have gotten to the okay, it will happen eventually and it might happen with this
I've gotten good at using all the resources, timely meds, tons of liquid, the right position and still the breathing is struggling and the body is unhappy, but she is watching me through her regular eyes
So tonight I put my head on her lap and sang to her, and she quieted to listen, and sing along a little. She patted my hair and squeezed my arm as if to say
I'm sorry this sucks so much. But we've had so many moments we shared where we were on a bed and something was falling apart or some life was ending or the power was out or we were singing or crying or there was sickness or sadness or unfathomable loss. But we had the bed, and us in it, trying to wrangle things out. Eventually we just had the company
because we couldn't always solve it. Mostly
The problems floated off, the hand on my cheek stayed
that's why we fight
