le sigh

Mar. 16th, 2007 09:21 am
luciab: (susan 3rd grade)
[personal profile] luciab
Yesterday is a prime example of my brain on Imitrex. (Oh, geez, no, don't tell me those stupid ads are true...) Between the migraine and the effects of the chemicals, it's clearly not a pretty picture. This morning the first thing I checked was how much space is left on my hard drive (over 30 GB-- yesterday I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to do that) and I figured out that it wasn't storage the message was talking about but memory because I had too much stuff open. Still, it seems wrong that when I told it to empty the trash it was telling me the files were locked. There were only 700 items actually in the trash but it said there were 30,000 items to delete, and it kept saying it can't delete this or that file because it's locked. That sounds more like cache to me, but why would it be trying to delete cache? I am beginning to suspect a virus.

Still, the fact that I am coherent enough to figure this out when I've only been awake less than an hour bodes well for my thinking processes today. Big improvement!

And a good thing, too, because Mother called last night to say hi and ask when I have projects due so she can avoid calling to distract me right before. When I checked, I realized that I have stuff due a lot sooner than I thought. Ooops! The call was very disturbing for other reasons, though. Mother was all perky-cheerful at first but suddenly she lowered her voice and said, "I'm in the kitchen now. James takes it by spells," which is an old-fashioned/ country/ mountain way of saying he's sharper some days than others. She didn't elaborate, but I knew exactly what she meant. Daddy may be better some days, but he's also very fuzzy some days. Apparently one of his tells is that he puts his clothes on wrong-- at first he'd try to put a sweatshirt on as pants, but lately he's been putting his t-shirt on over top of his buttoned flannel shirt. Mother says he sleeps most of the time, sitting in front of the TV. After his surgery, when he was so terribly confused all the time, someone told us that elderly people sometimes take six months to fully recover from the disorientation. Well, it's now been a little over five. My experience is that stuff like this gets better gradually; it doesn't go from 60 mph to 0 in 10' or less. Seems like months 3 and 4 showed the most improvement, though the last month he's been driving a little. Frankly, that scares the hell out of me. I have to trust that if he gets up and put his clothes on wrong that Mother will know it's not going to be a driving sort of day and call someone else to take her for her errands.

I also realized that I need to be calling more often. She's starting to get concerned, scared, depressed-- all those things, and lord knows it's a perfectly reasonable reaction. She's kept telling herself he'd be better in six months and now the six months is nearly gone and he's still putting his clothes on wrong. The woman who lives across the street from them just had to move from her condo to the assisted living apartments, and she didn't want to go. The apartments are nice, but obviously smaller, and she can't have a garden, which she loves, and she's lost that independence. Mother made a comment a little bit ago about them moving there, but she's not happy about it either. It's not in the immediate future, which is a good thing. There must be a crew on staff that helps move people, because they're sure not going to be able to do all the packing and such themselves. Mother and Daddy say everyone who lives in the development calls the whole place "the reservation" which I think is pretty damn funny.

Today I'm beginning to admit that this may be as good as it gets for Daddy. All the furniture that he was planning to make isn't going to happen. All the little helpful things he's done for the widow ladies will have to be done by someone else. He won't be taking care of the strawberry plants and delivering fresh berries to favored neighbors. Mother has become better about taking care of things, which is good. I am feeling guilty because I'm not the good selfless daughter who goes to take care of them in the longstanding tradition. People used to just do that sort of thing without apparent consideration for their own lives. Did they not get depressed at giving up their own plans and friends? Was that always the assumption so it didn't come as a surprise? Have we gotten so selfish that we aren't willing to give up our own priorities to take care of the people who raised us? Much of this is moderated in my case because they are in an assisted living community, and there are friends who still drive and can help Mother run errands. I know that if I moved back, I'd be even more depressed than I already am, which is bad enough. And at least for the moment, running errands is about all I could help with. Somehow it doesn't seem like a good enough reason.

Well. Now I've gotten myself all in a mood and I still have assignments to do. Time to pick myself up, give myself a metaphorical shake and get to work. Whee.
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luciab: (Default)
Susan Arthur

February 2011


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