
But
we can’t talk about any type of surgery now…
All
we’re concerned about at the moment is getting Mom’s meds managed, getting her
back on her feet, and getting her strong enough to get her home. To do that, she’ll have to go to a rehabilitation
center to regain her strength.
And
before she can do that, the doctors have to get her meds managed so she’s
stable enough to be discharged from the hospital.
As
each day passes and new symptoms (and consequences of past trial-and-error
medicines) surface, an increasingly thick layer of depression and misery hangs
around.
Doctors
are giving Mom a mixture of meds, trying to stabilize her, but I’m as concerned
about Mom’s mental attitude as much as her physical health. One feeds the other and vice versa. The mixture of meds, which are causing a chemical
imbalance, is also creating an emotional imbalance which is affecting her
moods, outlook, and her overall health.
I’ve
given up trying to contribute in this situation. My presence is met with criticism and
rebuttal. Her extended family has
rallied around her, and nothing I say or suggest is credited with any
value. They all know better than I, and I’m dismissed as soon as I
arrive.
On
one hand, I’m hurt by this; but on the other hand, I’m released from the
responsibility. There are doctors and
nurses in our family who are more knowledgeable than I, in this particular
area.
I
know that everything happens for a reason and will work out the way it is meant
to work out.
And, even though all we can do is take one day at a time, it's hard to convince the rest of them of this unchanging and natural law...
But then again, tomorrow is another day and brings with it another chance to do better…
.
But then again, tomorrow is another day and brings with it another chance to do better…
.
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