...
First, let me say my mother is showing signs of recovery. The rehab center took her off physical and occupational therapy weeks ago. She simply was not fit enough to benefit. Now, they are considering putting her back on.
Her improvement baffles medical science, but not me. During my recent visits, I have adopted the policy of smuggling rich chocolate malteds into her room. She sucks them down as Manna from Heaven, which is practically true.
Since I began, she has recovered her voice (a mixed blessing if ever there was one); she has recovered the use of her left arm and her ability to swallow seems healed – at least during the malt slurping periods.
Next week the therapy staff will reevaluate her abilities and make a judgment on her fitness. Meanwhile, I will be pushing the calories… Heh, heh.
The surprise of the week came from my son. He showed this morning up on a new BMW motorcycle. His lacks a few accessories I consider necessary for real touring, but that can be fixed with the application of $$$. Okay, maybe $,$$$.
For those of you interested in such things, the bike is an 800 cc water-cooled twin cylinder. It is very handsome, handles well (runs like a scalded dog and stops as if it hit a wall.) Ben says he was surprised to find motorcycles could also turn – a feature largely missing on his “old” bike.
To my surprise, it was not expensive as BMW stuff goes. You know, the key fob for $395.00, retail.
So, for you lot who bemoan your inability to hit the road, I suggest you take a look at one of these puppies, provided your wife or girlfriend will allow it. You know who you are.
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Showing posts with label Getting old. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Getting old. Show all posts
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Monday, February 28, 2011
Goin’ Up to the Spirit in the Sky
…
Friday, I got a call saying mother was not doing well. I jumped back in the car (I think it was still warm.) and sped to Granbury. Meanwhile, the rehab center rushed her back to the hospital, where they performed the customary CAT scan, blood tests and reported as follows when I arrived. “Your mother has had another stroke. She is suffering from kidney failure, dehydration and sepsis. Her blood pressure was near single digits. We cannot treat the kidney failure here, so we will send her to Ft. Worth.”
After waiting another hour, the ambulance had not showed up. The smart and cute woman doctor in charge of the ER said, “We’ve waited as long as we can. Get the helicopter… “
“WHAT? You mean to tell me my 87 year-old mother is getting to ride in a helicopter?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“I suppose you will insist I go with her, just to keep her calm, eh?”
“No, we insist you drive carefully to the new hospital. Your mother will meet you there.”
“$%^&*(O,” I thought to myself. I returned to the room to break the news to my mother.
In the darkened room, my mom reached up and laid her hand on my shoulder. I was shaking as I bent over her bed, resting my arms on the rail at her side. (I could not stop laughing.)
She spoke in a weak whisper. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong, I replied. It is just that at 87 you are going for your first helicopter ride. I let a little jealousy slop over into my voice.
I cast my glance aside toward her face. She looked utterly shocked.
“On the good side, I got the doctor to agree to let you fly the last little bit of the trip.”
A wide grin covered her gaunt face. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the pillow, still smiling.
“I’ll see you in Ft. worth soon, Mom. Remember, I love you.”
“I love you too,” she whispered.
I walked out of the room and toward the parking lot. On the way, I passed a tall stranger carrying a flight helmet. He was muscular and bald, but sported a brush of red hair on his face.
“You the pilot,” I asked.
“Yup. What can I do for you?”
I told him “You can be extra careful and fast. Your passenger is my mother.
“Will do, sir.”
He and I turned and went our ways. After I fetched my jalopy from the lot, I saw him doing his pre-flight inspection. I was pleased to see him concentrating on his work.
Somehow, I knew this part of the adventure would work out all right. I drove back to Dallas. I was limp as a rag when I arrived home.
Then the phone rang. It was the Ft. Worth hospital. My mother arrived in good order and they were bedding her down in a critical care unit. I was free to sleep the sleep of the just for one night.
Tomorrow could wait.
…
Friday, I got a call saying mother was not doing well. I jumped back in the car (I think it was still warm.) and sped to Granbury. Meanwhile, the rehab center rushed her back to the hospital, where they performed the customary CAT scan, blood tests and reported as follows when I arrived. “Your mother has had another stroke. She is suffering from kidney failure, dehydration and sepsis. Her blood pressure was near single digits. We cannot treat the kidney failure here, so we will send her to Ft. Worth.”
After waiting another hour, the ambulance had not showed up. The smart and cute woman doctor in charge of the ER said, “We’ve waited as long as we can. Get the helicopter… “
“WHAT? You mean to tell me my 87 year-old mother is getting to ride in a helicopter?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“I suppose you will insist I go with her, just to keep her calm, eh?”
“No, we insist you drive carefully to the new hospital. Your mother will meet you there.”
“$%^&*(O,” I thought to myself. I returned to the room to break the news to my mother.
In the darkened room, my mom reached up and laid her hand on my shoulder. I was shaking as I bent over her bed, resting my arms on the rail at her side. (I could not stop laughing.)
She spoke in a weak whisper. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong, I replied. It is just that at 87 you are going for your first helicopter ride. I let a little jealousy slop over into my voice.
I cast my glance aside toward her face. She looked utterly shocked.
“On the good side, I got the doctor to agree to let you fly the last little bit of the trip.”
A wide grin covered her gaunt face. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the pillow, still smiling.
“I’ll see you in Ft. worth soon, Mom. Remember, I love you.”
“I love you too,” she whispered.
I walked out of the room and toward the parking lot. On the way, I passed a tall stranger carrying a flight helmet. He was muscular and bald, but sported a brush of red hair on his face.
“You the pilot,” I asked.
“Yup. What can I do for you?”
I told him “You can be extra careful and fast. Your passenger is my mother.
“Will do, sir.”
He and I turned and went our ways. After I fetched my jalopy from the lot, I saw him doing his pre-flight inspection. I was pleased to see him concentrating on his work.
Somehow, I knew this part of the adventure would work out all right. I drove back to Dallas. I was limp as a rag when I arrived home.
Then the phone rang. It was the Ft. Worth hospital. My mother arrived in good order and they were bedding her down in a critical care unit. I was free to sleep the sleep of the just for one night.
Tomorrow could wait.
…
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