On March 8, my voice was still squeaky from the concentrated O2 in the hospital. It’s a given I sounded old and feeble. Or young and immature. DD called and we talked (or she did—I squeaked) for almost an hour and a half.
After we’d exchanged pleasantries, she launched into the fact that the siblings (and herself) were very concerned about my well-being. I was living so far away from any of them (an hour at the most from DS1 and DS2 and across the country from DD) that it made it hard for them to keep an eye on me. I needed that??! Well, neither one of the sons had been to see me. It wouldn’t be practical for DD to come. None of them really had any idea how I was actually doing.
The plan was for me to move to either son’s property and live in a Tiny House (sounded more like something DD would want to do). That way, I could have help readily available. Well, what about Cuz? She works and if I needed something right away, she might not be here. I was beginning to feel quite decrepit.
I told her Cuz is going to put an 8X10 foot storage shed beside my house. That’s 80 square feet. She could move into it and there could be a breezeway between it and her old room (a door would have to be built) and she could use the facilities in the house. That was as viable as what her brothers were proposing. She let me know she was not amused.
It’s a settled fact that, at 71 years of age, I’m not quite ready to be told what to do. She admitted she hadn’t seen me for a couple of years and, yes, I should know better than anyone if I needed to live in a Mother-in-Law accommodation.
My communication with my sons while I was in the hospital was spotty, at best. DS1 called several times but my squeaky voice was hard to understand. DIL2 had emailed her worry in a more militant fashion and I’d finally asked if they were wanting me to come live with them. She replied they were “just concerned”. Well, then don’t jump to conclusions. It was like my trying to make decisions for my BIL based on what my niece tells me except that’s a bit more factual.
I was steamed, to say the least. I’m not an invalid. I had been in a hospital bed IN a hospital for eight days. I had had a round of treatments and medications that were making me weaker before I could get stronger. That wasn’t to say I was ready to be put out to pasture.
There’s a believer’s site I post on every day and I pulled out all the stops. I unloaded a bunch of crap that was really bugging me. One of the participants commented in reply:
Tommie, don’t look at the discussion your children are having about you being closer to them as ‘being put out to pasture’ but simply just being closer to them… they are not taking away your independence but just making sure you are close enough they can be there at a moments notice to help you when you need it. To me, being put out to pasture would be being put into a nursing home and forgotten about, which happens to so many. You are BLESSED to have children who care so much for you and are looking out for your best interest. They LOVE you… let them. Sheila
The next Sunday when DD called, my voice was back to normal. She was more than satisfied I would be okay living on my own for the foreseeable future. She’d notify the brothers there was no need to go ahead with arrangements (sounded like a funeral). I was off the hook. And I still haven’t seen hide nor hair of the two males. I’m low on the list of priorities, I guess.
And now for current events.
Cuz worked today! This is one of the few days since before I was in the hospital that the weather has allowed it. I’m sure she’s happy to be able to make some money rather than do what she calls “piddling” at home.
The Home Health PT evaluator called when she was leaving Chattanooga and let me know she was on her way. I had my breakfast ready so I was able to eat, get dressed and make the bed before she got here.
At first, we made small talk about piano lessons, etc. (She asked if I played and I told her yes. I’m glad she didn’t ask for a demonstration.) Her daughter hates to practice and she’s at a loss to know what to do to remedy it. I wasn’t much help since DD quit and hasn’t touched a piano for years (at least, not that I’m aware).
Then she launched into much the same interview as I’d had before. Falls? No. Walker? No. Cane? No. She checked my strength and was impressed. No swelling of the ankles. The fact that I have little to no endurance qualified me for four weeks of PT. A man will be coming to put me through my paces later this week. I haven’t heard if the nurse can give me my B12 tomorrow.
She asked to see the bathroom so I showed her Twinkle’s. I had to demonstrate how I sit and get up off the commode. I explained I don’t take baths in the tub but use the one in the other bathroom. I had to lead her through the disaster area that is my former bedroom so she could see the tub and shower. And I can get in and out unassisted?? Yes. If ever I need bars put up, be sure to do that. Okay.
She saw that I’m well versed in the ways of Ralph.
I guess she was here most of an hour. My BP was 124/76. O2 sat was 98.
She is going to recommend that I don my portable O2 and let the therapist walk me in the yard so I can get outside. WOOHOO!! I’ll be sprung for a little while. I’be been as far as the deck but no farther. The Catz are wary of me now.
Cuz came home before I ate supper and we had a short visit. After I’d eaten, I waited until my food had mostly digested when I decided I’d get on the bed to “rest my eyes”. That’s just what I did and when I woke, it was full on dark and the front door was still open. I closed it and Cuz came over to lock me in for the night.
Tomorrow is supposed to be another nice day. If my therapy doesn’t start until Thursday, the weather is predicted to turn rainy and cold. Just my luck.