Drove out today, accompanied by my niece Whitney, to spend some time with Mom. She’s in such pain and there’s nothing I can do about it. Her doctor has not determined how to handle her case yet, and she’s so hungry and can’t eat anything. She lies in bed, pain-wracked, and imagines all her favorite meals. She gave me a running description of what she wanted to eat. “Oh, Mommie, don’t do that,” I told her. When my sister was making dinner for her girls, Mommie had to close the bedroom door the aromas were too much to deal with.
I went over her medical coverage with her, and made notes for our conference with her doctor on Tuesday. I lotioned her skin and my sister made her a fresh cup of lemon ice chips and a half mug of lukewarm vegetable broth. She couldn’t keep down the broth, but she’s able to suck on the lemon ice chips. I’m going to ask about getting some food into her somehow. She says she’s starving; the doctor will have to do something.
I’m numb thinking about what she’s going through and can hardly believe what’s happened to her. I told her not to worry about things, not to fret about the papers, and we will take care of her. I expected Mommie to live through her old age in physical peace. She’s always been healthy; she’s only 67. Of course none of us are prepared for the way the body betrays.
My refuge is the writing; otherwise, I’d sit and brood and cry. Yesterday I worked on Nyrabet and the Swordswoman and finished the first scene, 1,094 words. And I worked on a new novel, Hell’s Assassin; wrote a couple paragraphs. It’s a new project about a character that’s been on my mind for at least ten years. I’ve been thinking about looking at A Lamentation of Swans again.
Finished reading Dorothy B. Hughes’s Ride the Pink Horse. Excellent novel. Must find her other books.
I’m not sure how I’m going to spend this evening or tomorrow, i.e., whether I’m going to write or read or stare at movies; it’s nice, though, not having to do the zombie run.
My heartfelt thanks to all of you for your compassion and support.