Farmer H stopped by the hospital to visit Mom on the way home from work. She's had an eventful day, what with three full meals, therapy, and six visitors. Not to mention the clown car convention of hard-of-hearing loud-talkers that pulls into the roommate station several times a day. Mom called me on her cell phone this evening.
"Hello?"
Silence.
"Hello?"
"Hello? It's me. Mom."
"Yeah. My phone announces your name after the second ring. But nobody was there when I said hello."
"Sometimes, it's kind of hard to hear here. If you know what I mean."
"WHAT? Is there a TRAIN in your room? I swear, I hear a train."
"No...but you see what I mean?"
"Yes."
"I got out of here today for therapy. Some of the old people down there are starting to talk to me. 'Oh! HM's Mom! Come over here and sit with us.' It's nice to have a group of people to get together with. It breaks up the day. And gets me out of this room."
I sense that a counseling session from #1 Son, RA Extraordinaire, might be in order.
"Did you dance today?"
"No...was I supposed to dance?"
"Well, the therapy girl said on Saturday that she might have you dancing by Monday."
"Oh. She was there. I did hold onto her hands. She had me put my right foot out. And then my left foot out."
"Did you shake it all about? MOM! Did you do the Hokey Pokey?"
"I don't think so. But she wanted to see how well I could move each foot."
Mom thinks they may be springing her on Thursday after her doctor's appointment in the city. Farmer H and I don't think so. Her insurance will pay for two weeks, so I think they'll hang onto their cash cow until then. Especially since Mom is so popular there.
Farmer H says she is getting around great with her walker, and that he and my sister the ex-mayor's wife shouldn't have any trouble taking her to the doctor on Thursday.
"You know, I almost bought her a walker at the auction Saturday night."
"You are NOT buying my mom a walker at the auction!"
"I don't know why not. It was only twelve dollars."
"My mom is not getting a used walker!"
"Her insurance will pay for one. But the physical therapist thinks she should probably have one on each floor."
"I thought she was walking up and down stairs already."
"She is. But she holds the handrail. Then she uses the walker. She doesn't use the walker on the stairs. I can't believe how cheap they sell walkers at the auction. Sometimes I think about buying them and donating them to people who give stuff to people who can't afford it."
"NO! You'll be like that episode of Seinfeld, where they gave Kramer's old girlfriend a used wheelchair, and it didn't have any brakes!"
Funny how my life is like a show about nothing.
3 comments:
I think you are right. They're going to milk your mother for all she's worth, squeezing every morsel of charm out of her--for their own entertainment!--before the insurance company lowers the curtain on Your Mom Show.
(And I see you still have your squatter hanging around. No one to serve the eviction papers?)
If only some starving children had flown in to eat my peas! I had to sit at the table until bedtime and eat them before I could get up. Dishes were done. Lights were turned out. Still I sat there. Looking at the peas. In the dark. I don't know what warm peas taste like, because I haven't eaten them since, but they can't taste much better than cold peas at 9:00 p.m.
Sioux,
Heh, heh. Try to make sense out of THAT comment. Looks like I pasted without copying. That was for somebody else's blog.
What I MEANT to say was:
WAIT! Mom is getting out tomorrow! I have a sneaking suspicion that some other little old lady has usurped Mom's rightful spotlight.
As for my squatter, I have tried six ways to Sunday to get rid of him. Looks like I'm going to have to take the door off the hinges, and toss his belongings into the front yard. A blogger should not have to prove she's not a robot on her own blog!
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