One problem at a time

 7am. Alarm. Up, coffee on, muesli in bowl. Next problem ticked off, the nurses.

I called my sister at 7.30. She was driving to work. We briefly spoke finances. She wished me luck.

The hospital called, just as I was finishing my muesli. Good thing they did, I never know the etiqutte of these things. I’m just about to leave. Could I bring clothes. Yes, I could.

Detour to mums.

Lottie’s very agitated when I get to the hospital, but I get her laughing. The age care professional comes and has a word with me, tells me the process. Lottie can’t go home. We hear that mum is getting dressed and leaving. One thinks she has caught on.

She’s getting dressed and leaving, she was determined.

We sat her down and had a discussion about why she couldn’t go home. She protested a lot. So when it was eventually decided that she had to stay in the hospital, she finally piped up, in the silence of her stubbornness, okay, I’ll go to the other place to be assessed, but just for a week. But it wasn’t ego, it was defeat. She said she would do it for me.

We were in, she had agreed. The assessments would be less rushed in respite than what necessitates assessment combined with the running of a busy hotel. It made sense. She got that, she agreed.

I guess Lottie’s worst nightmare came true at around midday today, as I lead the poor little lamb in by the hand to a pale pink, with dark pink high lights, old age care facility.

The very nice lady running the place, said, you are cold. (not me, mum, you understand?) You should have a nice cup of tea and some lunch, to warm you up. And she took her away. I heard mum being introduced to the other inmates, as I stood at reception filling out the paperwork.

And there was my mother, sitting up drinking tea and eating lunch, chatting away. There she was, playing lady, the same eye flicks, the same round mouth when she was asked if she liked sausages. Oh no. The same finger twitches. The napkin was tucked in to her oldest gardening jumper.

She didn’t see me watching her.

She was off and chatting, as the sun shone in through the tulle’d windows.

She then just kissed me good bye, no tears, no glance back. Distracted with new things, so quickly. She thinks she is staying a week. Five days, as she counted out.

And I got a park right outside my hairdresser early afternoon and I had a haircut. I bought two pork salad rolls. I came home wrote blogs and smoked pot in between fielding calls from an assortment of health care professionals. I was beginning to fade by 18.30, I could hear it in my voice.

I called work. Poor Beck is hating to hearing her say she is going to resign for the very first time. So, with that on the cards, I gave her my sob story and asked for the rest of the week off. She agreed but I could hear it was what she didn’t want to hear. She hesitated before she said it was alright.

I don’t know if I’m terrible, but I got home and thought, Well, that wasn’t so hard, quite relaxed, really. Of course, it’s not done yet – raised open hands – not by a long shot, but so far so good.

And I rolled myself a great, fat j. And lit a fire and wondered what Shane was going to provide for dinner.

Next step meet the insurance assessor.

Actually, the next step is, put wood on the fire and then food. Safely home again.

Shane bought home healthy, organic take away. And wine. And we got shitfaced.