You know that ratcheting sound that you hear when you are on any sort of a thrill ride? The one the car makes as it is slowly inching its way up to the peak, right before you go hurtling down again, and your stomach ends up in your throat? I've been hearing that in my head, ever since I got to Dallas. Things are just going too smoothly right now, and you know it can't last.
Oh, we've had the usual little problems: trying to get all of Mom's stuff cleared out and packed up, with her refusing to help, or to part with a thing - not even trash; her insisting on taking every stick of furniture in the house that was ever hers, knowing that it can't possibly all fit into her tiny efficiency apartment, and that she's going to turn around the minute the moving truck and all our brawny helpers have disappeared, and insist that Carolyn come back and get it out of her way this instant; her asking us over and over again to go check and see if they've painted the walls in her apartment terra cotta yet, though we've told her every day that it ain't gonna happen cause it's against the rules there. (This isn't dementia, I promise you. This has always been her way of dealing with an answer she doesn't like, hoping she will eventually wear us down. Unfortunately, she usually does.)
Overall, however, she seems remarkably upbeat about the whole situation. It can't last. ratchet...ratchet...ratchet...
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2 comments:
Wow - I know EXACTLY what you mean!!!! Good luck this afternoon signing her in. I'm sure she's going to be asking THEM when they are going to paint her room!!! L - Gus
Those were the first words out of her mouth when we sat down with the head nurse!
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