Not much has changed since last time I sat down to do this. Sela has suffered a few falls, a bit of a decrease in
hemoglobin, a bit more of hallucinations and confusion, a bit less sight and
hearing; all expected and sad. The home
care has not changed: Maria in the morning, brings sunshine and compassion,
kindness and loving care; Kati in the afternoon full of energy and joyfulness. My tutoring has not increased, only seven or
eight students come and go from 3 to 6pm.
Renny’s barks increasingly annoy us all; not yet trained, we skip
over Sela’s pads which cover the corners of the sofa, and two spots upstairs he
frequents to relief himself, raising his hind paw up in the air.
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| Renny stalking squirrels |
We’ve got a new Social Worker, Maureen, who told us to submit another request for more homecare hours, but have still not heard from them yet. Sela cannot use her legs at all, and lifting her or even turning her on the bed, requires quite a lot from care givers. My back has started to bother me again; pain shoots down both of my legs and I’m on Voltaren twice a day once more.
This entry is a lot about grief, distress and trials. Spring is almost here: forsythias had their golden show already, the viburnums are ready to flower in a week or so, pear trees are filled with their little white flowers, the cool soft breeze is full of sweet scents and promises. I fear for the future with an unbalanced impostor in the White House surrounded by bigots, opportunistic and unskilled people.
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| Forsythia |
Tomorrow, we take Sela to see the eye specialist for her
macular degeneration affliction. Only her right eye
allows her to read a little and watch television. Taking her there requires quite an effort
for all involved, but Dr. Punjabi insists on giving her injections to keep the better eye going. In her long hours in bed, my
mother ponders on her situation, forgetting her disabilities and making plans
for weddings, parties and outings. She
dreams and continues to live the dream for a few hours. What sadness to come back to reality abruptly,
and stop seeing or talking to her mother, my father, her sisters, her brother. How she copes with all this, I don’t
know. I’m just certain that it is
awfully lonely and devastatingly sad.
Sometimes when she’s alert we can talk, but it ends up with her going
back to another time frame; so I engage her by pretending that her reality is true,
and there we are. Do we want to live
that long? Until next time, so long. Jgp
