Long Day is Long

Wednesday morning started like most other mornings: I woke up. I scratched, I peed, I checked email and my Dad told me he was calling the ambulance to take my mother to the hospital.

Okay, so it's not like most morning. Just some. It's always morning when these things happen. It was morning when I found out Mom was moving out - I hadn't even gotten to fully wake up for that one. It was morning the last two times Mom got taken to the hospital.

Have I mentioned I am not a morning person?

So I pulled on pants and shirt and I stood outside and waited for EMS. I listened to the sirens as they got closer, and I realized I hadn't even gotten a chance to go look in on Mom myself. The problem didn't sound bad. She just couldn't get out of bed. Too lethargic, too sick, too much pain. That sort of thing.

It's happened before. Muscle spasms cause a migraine. The migraine causes nausea. Nausea causes vomiting. Vomiting means her meds don't stay down and her blood sugar spikes. A blood sugar spike causes the gastropareisis to act up and her stomach shuts down.

Sucks balls when that happens.

So, we take her to the doctor. Only this time, she couldn't get out of bed.

It started late Monday night. The vomiting, anyway. Called her doctor, got some anti-nausea meds. She seemed to be getting better on Tuesday, until late in the night, when she started vomiting again. Enter Wednesday morning.

And me, standing outside, waiting for the EMS. I listened to the sirens getting closer, as they navigated the maze of the community we live in. I saw my next door neighbor giving a concerned look as he realized why I was standing outside.

I was calm when the fire truck got there. They grabbed their gear and came in, and started the process of getting her read. Blood pressure, meds, medical history, etc. Not four minutes later, the EMS showed up. I wasn't much help, because Dad was handling things, so I got a coke from the fridge. Odd, how normal this all seemed to me. I drank my coke, printed off more med lists (she takes A LOT of strong meds). One paramedic talked to Dad and took down information. Two others were in with Mom and were asking her questions she wasn't coherent enough to answer, so I went in and gave them answers. They paramedics were surprised at how on top of things Dad and I were and how we were able to give consistent, informative answers.

Impressing paramedics with your ability to handle complex and dangerous medical situations? Not sure how I feel about that, really.

They loaded her in the ambulance and said they were going to give her an IV. Knowing that could take awhile, I drank more coke, called dreamsaint and my brothers. Dad got her meds and some other stuff ready to go and followed them to the hospital. They took her to the hospital we trust least because the doctor we trust most works there.

No, I didn't go.

I do well at hospitals, especially when I'm needed. When I can answer questions, help Mom, help the doctors. Otherwise, I'm just a fat guy who's in the way. All I can do is sit down somewhere and read a book until someone needs me to go buy a soda or grab lunch.

I suck at sitting and doing nothing. I would have to say of all the varied and often useless skills I have, sitting and doing nothing is perhaps the thing I am worst at. I have patience. I have calm. Hell, sometimes I even manage zen. But sitting and doing nothing?

Fuck that. I have to be doing something.

Luckily for me, I had something else I needed to be doing. A most welcome distraction, and a task I've been looking forward to for awhile. I had taken today off work, because I was going to snack time with a four-year-old at his Head Start class.

A friend of mine from the Well adopted four kids, all siblings, recently. As a single mother. She is, perhaps, one of the few people I know who are more insane than I am. You wouldn't know it, even talking to her, but kids are her calling and her passion. Her job is to protect them. She's always helped raise her friends' kids - and trust me when I say there are a lot of them. About, oh...15 or so. Conservatively. Kids, that is.

She adopted her four; they're roughly a year apart in age. Two boys, two girls. The youngest (a boy) RK, is the one I went to see. His class was having this 'bring your father/brother/uncle/favorite adult male to snack' thing this week. RK asked for me to go. I was his first choice - and I was glad to do it. Flattered, even. I mean, how many times in life can a single male with no intention (or prospect) of having children can claim that they're that loved by a kid?

So I got the day off work and I went. Driving out to Bastrop was, to say the least, an adventure. Though I'm somewhat familiar with the area and the highways out there from the Kallven days, it's been awhile. So I got directions, climbed in the car and off I went. As some of you know, with the fibromyalgia and arthritis, driving is painful. Driving all the way out there? Very painful. And directions and I? Not always the best of friends. I can get lost in my own room, to say nothing of unfamiliar back country roads with signs you don't see until you've passed them.

But I made it there. On time, even.

RK was glad to see me - came running right up and wanted to be picked up. I probably shouldn't indulge him (or his sibs) as much as I do, but I couldn't say no. He stuck with me like glue the whole time I was there - he got shy and wouldn't talk at first, but there was a little girl (BK) in his class that seems very fond of him. She also, for some reason, clung to me. RK didn't want me to leave, actually - it wasn't until his class was over and he was in his after-school care program that I had to go. I could hang out with him, but the rules were I couldn't mingle with the other kids. BK wasn't happy about that.

I left him with his after-school care people and went on my way. I had to physically hand RK over to his teacher; he was very unhappy with me. BK, to my surprise, cried when I left.

It was a fun afternoon; it was hard balancing giving RK most of my attention while not ignoring or hurting the feelings of BK - but I managed. RK's teacher is an awesome lady, and very brave, teaching a room full of four-year-olds. It's not so much controlled chaos as it is purposeful chaos. She had a masterful hand with the kids, able to maintain discipline and keep control without being mean or nasty. I learned a lot just watching her for an hour or so.

I drove back home. Stopped at convenience store on my way back in for more coke. I needed the
caffeine by then (eating a snack meant for a four-year-old is not enough to give any kind of energy to man of my prodigious girth, especially when it's the only thing you've eaten that day). One of these days I might even write something about why I like convenience stores so much. Especially highway convenience stores.

I got back home, called people. Called xdrumrboi again, because I know he never checks his messages. Talked to Dad. Rescheduled the video shoot I'm supposed to be doing, picked up xdrumrboi, grabbed
whataburger, and battled traffic to the hospital, met with Dad and saw Mom. Ate lukewarm fast food (which, trust me, I'm regretting right now).

Everyone knows my mother and I don't often see eye-to-eye. Most people don't even realize why. A lot of the time, I don't understand why. I think it's because we don't see the world through the same eyes. I don't think we can.

But no matter what, she share a bond no one else in the family does - we share some of the same diseases. I learned to cope with what I have by watching her...often times, doing just the opposite of what she does, just because that's the way things have always worked. What works for her doesn't work for me and vice versa.

It seems like Mom and I aren't close at all, to most people. Oddly enough? We are. I'm probably closer to her than anyone but Dad. I took care of her for a long, long time. Did you know I drove her to and from work for years? That we worked in the same building for almost two years? That she's the one who convinced me to go to St. Edward's University? We talked every day, multiple times a day, about everything for years. She always gave advice, a lot of it bad, some of even with good intentions.

She's been trying to fix me my entire life, since before I knew there was anything wrong about me. Before I'd had the great revelation that I, for whatever reason, see the world so differently than most people. Since before I knew had I depression, since before I knew I wanted to be a writer. Since before I knew I could be a writer.

She taught me to read. Honestly? I don't think there's any greater gift she could have given me. Even now, I chew through books and reading material at a rate that astounds even me. Arrogant to say, but deal with it, folks. I can go through four or five novels in a week, to say nothing of fic, comics, and things people send me to read. I remember sitting on the floor, leaning against the foot of the waterbed, in the house in San Antonio, her bribing me with M&Ms to read word after word. I remember crying, I remember the headaches, the mental pain of trying to make the words hold still on the page. To sound out each word. She taught me using phonics, like she was taught.

She made me do it. I hated it. I hated her. I even hated the fucking candy after awhile.

She never let me give up. The only things she's ever wanted me to give up? Being a writer. Being me. Small things, really.

Well, KH, if you read this, there you go. A bit more insight to me and my mother. A tidbit or three that might give you some of the answers you want.

I told you if you read this thing, you'd get hints every now and again.

All the times she's been sick? I haven't been this worried. No matter how serious it was. No matter how bad she was. Because no matter what, she soaked up the attention. She loved being the center of attention, having everyone worried about her, thinking about her, changing up their lives to take care of her.

This time, it's different, and it scares me.

She didn't want anyone there with her.

Big change. Scary change. I wonder if it's because she's realized how serious it is, for once...or if this is worse than it ever has been.

If you're the praying kind, I'd appreciate the prayers.

For now, I'm going to try to sleep. Or, at least, lay in bed and read until my alarm clock goes off and I have to go to work.