She did it again.

She didn’t answer when I called her.

Twice.

Before 9 am.

After having low blood pressure and pulse yesterday. I’m no doctor, but that doesn’t sound good to me.

I had the kids call before Big Sis got on the bus. I called again afterwards. Nothing.

I called my sister, to see if she had talked with Mom yet. No answer.

So…I could be REASONABLE and assume that Mom was fine. But we all know where THAT got me a couple of weeks ago.

So I packed up Little Sis and off we went.

The whole 7 minute drive I pored over all the possibilities: She’d died in her sleep. She’d fallen on the way to the bathroom. She’d had a heart attack or stroke. We’d find her dead. We’d find her injured. We’d find her alive and well, and laughing at us because we’d dropped everything and burst through her door.

It was the last one. She was fine. She’d “slept through” my calls.

She never does that. Grrrrr.

So I stayed. I was just getting her up and into the shower when there was a knock at the door. It was one of the nurses’ aides who helps Mom every morning. She was surprised to see me, and I explained why I was there. She scolded Mom too, and we divvyed up duties. She got Mom showered and did her laundry while I fixed breakfast.

After a nice breakfast (scrambled eggs and a lovely fresh fruit salad of mango, blueberries and strawberries), I set up her Philips Lifeline. It was very easy, although I did have to rearrange her living room a bit. We needed to set up the unit somewhere in the room where she spends the most time (living room) on a hard surface away from noisy appliances like televisions and air conditioners. I plugged the unit in, turned it on, and audio directions guided us through the set-up. Mom tested her help button from various locations in the apartment, and it worked fine. Finally, Mom pressed the help button to call into the Lifeline center to confirm that she was good to go. The attendant was very friendly, and we were done in a flash.

Three hours later, I was home again. Never made it to the grocery store. Didn’t work out. Hadn’t showered yet.

I started cleaning here so that Little Sis could have a 1:00 pm playdate. The playdate goes until 3:00 pm. Big Sis get off the bus at 3:45 pm, and we have a doctor’s appointment to go to immediately afterward.

Dinner? Who has time? Who has ingredients?

I wonder what Mom will come up with tomorrow?

Caregiving #fail

Just back from picking Mom up off the floor this morning.

I’m not sure I have the energy to go into all of it, but Mom was diagnosed with the flu on Friday. Talked to her Saturday at 9:30 am; she was about to take her pills.

Saturday morning around 10 am, she got up to get herself a glass of water to take her pills with. She never made it.

She sank down on the couch (which is too low to get herself back up from), and there she stayed…until 10:30 pm that night. Couldn’t reach the pull cord or the cordless telephone, or even the stinking remote for the TV.

But she heard all the phone messages from my sister and me…at least 3 that night alone.

At 10:30 pm, she rolled off the couch to try to get…well, anywhere else.

Long story short, folks…she spent the night on the floor.

I tried to reach her three times this morning before church, and there was no answer. Called my sister to see if she’d talked with Mom any more recently than I had…nope.

I sent Mr. Hoagie and the kids to church, and I went to Mom’s.

I found her on the floor, burst into tears, and pulled the cord to get a nurse to come by. We picked her up and got her comfortable, and the nurse took her vitals. All fine, though her BP was a bit elevated.

I got her water and a light breakfast (she hadn’t eaten or drank since Friday night), and when she was feeling stronger, I got her showered and dressed.

I’ve just come home to get a few things, but I’m on my way back over. I tucked her in (her actual BED) for a nap before I left.

What a morning….

UPDATE: Stopped back at Mom’s to get things cleaned up this afternoon. Watched Obama at Notre Dame with her.Took her measurements to buy her new clothes. Fixed her dinner & got her settled. Came home, and had the kids call to check on her. Mom told the girls I saved her life; I corrected her: “Mom, I nearly killed you!”

Why didn’t I check on her EARLIER?!?

She was in bed by 7:30 pm. So far, so good….

Busy Birthday and OMTS

Today is Little Sis’ 5th birthday.

I spent all day yesterday begging her not to turn 5, to just stay 4.

No deal.

“Don’t you want me to grow up and have babies?” she asked me.

Not now, I don’t. Not today. Not anytime soon. Not before you’re 30, young lady.

To make matters worse, I had to take her to kindergarten orientation today.

I’m not ready. Where have the last 5 years gone? I remember the night Little Sis was born. We changed Big Sis’ tee shirt from the one she was wearing, stained with the chocolate-banana milkshake she’d brought me, to the crisp brand-new “Big Sister” tee shirt I’d found in a little shop in New Orleans a few months earlier. Now Little Sis is old enough to MAKE chocolate-banana milkshakes (and do her own spilling, too).

So it’s been a busy day at our house. Big Sis went on her zoo field trip today. She packed two disposable cameras, but couldn’t find the tee shirt she was supposed to wear (probably my fault…we’re woefully behind on laundry). Packed lunch, but almost forgot a drink because I remembered at the last minute that she wouldn’t be able to buy milk at the zoo. I put her on the bus, then came home to finish getting ready for kindergarten orientation.

We were late. It’s because of my OMTS diagnosis.

Okay, I’m self-diagnosed, but still…..

It’s called “One More Thing Syndrome.” I often try to cram in “just one more thing” on my to-do list before leaving, and it frequently gets me into trouble. This morning, it was filling my water bottle (trying to cultivate that healthy SparkPeople habit). Oh, and then realizing as I’m backing out of the driveway that my purse was still in the kitchen.

Okay, so maybe that’s “Two More Things Syndrome.”

So we went to the orientation…all good. Nothing new. We met up with friends, and while I was talking with the mom, those two girls organized a playdate under our noses and behind our backs all at the same time. I checked the clock, and we had some time before I’d planned to meet my mom for Little Sis’ birthday lunch. So we went to our local grocery store, which has a day care area built into it. We dropped the girls there to play, and grocery shopped together.

In the meantime, I’d called Mom to check in, only to find that she wasn’t feeling well this morning. I changed plans so that I’d take lunch to Mom’s instead of taking Mom out. At the store, I picked up ingredients for hamburgers, along with a watermelon, baked beans and macaroni salad.

When we got to Mom’s, she was resting in her bedroom. I got her started on some watermelon (not too much; her kidney diet only permits about one cup at a time) while I fixed the burgers & grilled asparagus. It was a great meal, but more cooking and cleaning than I normally do for lunch.

By the time I left, she had perked up considerably and was feeling better. I, however, was exhausted.

I came home, picking up Big Sis at the bus stop. As I write, she and Little Sis are playing at the neighbors’.

Tonight, we’re taking Little Sis out for her birthday dinner: her choice. Dessert will be at Cold Stone Creamery (Big Sis, Little Sis and I all have coupons for free birthday ice cream and today is the only day that they’ll honor all three). I guess presents will be after that, but they’re not wrapped yet. I hid them in the trunk of Mr. Hoagie’s car, and never remembered to take them out to wrap them.

I mean, how can anyone expect me to remember that kind of thing the night the Lost finale is on?

Wish me luck….

Mom called…

…again.

The first call was this morning. It’s our daily just-checking-in-to-let-you-know-I-woke-up-today call. It usually involves Mom grilling me on my schedule for the day. Sometimes I feel like she’s checking for chinks in it to see if she can insert herself.

So I carried on with my (boring) day. Laundry…always laundry…cleaning, scrubbing, dishes, blah blah blah. Sometimes I feel I could spend every waking moment doing that stuff and still never catch up.

The phone rings. I’m scrubbing the toilet. It’s Mom. I ignore it.

She HATES that. But I do it in the interest of maintaining my sanity.

If she’s having an emergency, she’ll tell me.

“Where ARE you?” she crows cheerfully (thanks, Lexapro!) into my answering machine. “In the basement? Doing laundry? Give me a call back.”

Ummmm…WHY? So you can parrot the Fox News headlines to me? No, thanks.

Fast forward an hour and a half and two loads of laundry later. Phone rings. Mom.

Ugh. I roll my eyes and pick it up. “Hello?”

“You never called me back. What were you doing?”

“Ummm…laundry, dishes, sweeping, cleaning the bathroom…”

“So you just didn’t want to call me back.”

Yeah. Pretty much.

“You have to admit, Mom, we spend a lot of time on the phone with you watching Fox News,” (and me on Twitter, but that’s neither here nor there) I said in my defense.

“Well, I’m not watching it NOW,” she huffs.

Eventually she gets to the point of her phone call. She needs some tax documents sent to her tax guy. Apparently she was hoping I could drive them over.

I plug the address into Google maps. It’s an hour’s drive. Each way.

“Can’t you just mail them?” I plead.

“Well, they would all need to be photocopied first,” she replies.

You mean I’LL need to photocopy them and mail them. Like I don’t have enough to do.

Actually, Mom hasn’t been too bad lately. She’s been staying healthy (-ish) and I really don’t have anything to complain about. I know I’m lucky to have her. I’m just crabby.

*sigh* At least I’m not driving to the opposite side of the city.

UPDATE: Got some interesting responses on Twitter:

Monday, Monday…

Ugh. The beginning of Daylight Savings Time SUCKS. We all (especially Big Sis!) have been dragging since Sunday morning. The girls are off at school (which is a minor achievement in itself), and I am stuck at home with too much to do and no plan to get it done.

Big Sis needs a new spring jacket. Somewhere in this black hole of a house, we have a gift card from Christmas with which to buy her one. Think I can find it? No. Been looking for an hour. On the upside, though, I’ll get 20% off if I charge it.

Our week was so busy last week that not enough housework got done, and now I’m wallowing in the results. Plus laundry is (still) way behind because I’m washing a load or two of Little Sis’ bedding almost every morning.

Plus, we missed Mom yesterday because of a prior social engagement, so I owe her a visit today. Little Sis wants to spend the afternoon; I might just let her.

I’m drowning in piles…kitchen table, counters, coffee table. Everything needs a good once-over. Where’s Flylady when I need her?

Also, I joined SparkPeople a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve been trying to exercise 15 minutes a day. I started out great…30, 40, even 50 minutes (thanks, Emergency! on Netflix instant), but have been slacking this past week. Now it’s time to pick up Little Sis from preschool, and I’m out of time to exercise this morning.

I have a book club meeting on Thursday, and two books to read for it. It’s not looking good.

Plus my usual assignment for the online class I’m taking.

Everywhere I look, there’s something else for me to do! And chances are, it should’ve been done already. It’s enough to ruin a girl’s day before it even starts.

Ugh.

Somebody poke me when Monday is over.

I’m so Fried-day

Crazy week this week. Today was the culmination. Here’s the rundown:

Up at 7 am to preside over a new, improved morning routine (we used to stumble out of bed at 7:30 and wonder why we couldn’t get out of the house by 8:00 am). The routine thing (I’ve posted about my difficulties with routines before) was an assignment from Big Sis’ counselor, so it’s like a prescription I’ve had to fill. It’s working well so far though.We started on Tuesday and are still going strong. The key is showering at night (I know, duh…but Big Sis, who hates showering seems to hate it a little less in the morning) and letting the kids have screen time if they complete their morning routines in a timely manner. We’ve been ready to go at about 7:40 am almost every morning.

If only I had the time and energy to pull together after-school and bedtime routines. Maybe next week.

We left the house to go to the bus stop only to be greeted by the sight and smell of hazy white smoke. None of the neighbors seemed to know where it was coming from, so since danger was not imminent, we moved on with our day.

Back in the house to wash Little Sis’ wet sheets. Of course, the washer and dryer were full, so I had to clear them out first. Then, I promised myself I’d exercise at least 15 minutes, but I was already running late to pick up Mom for her doctor’s appointment. I worked out anyway, considering it a deposit toward not having my kids drive ME to the kidney doctor when I’m Mom’s age.

By the time I’m showered, it’s 10 am. I call Mom to tell her I’m on my way. She reports that the smoke I smelled earlier was from a fire in a nearby apartment building; she saw a news report. Apparently some guy on the third floor was making eggs, and some grease caught fire. He threw water on it. Two hundred firefighters and 15 road construction crew-turned-rescuers later, the building was lost, but everyone got out safely. Also, I’ll have to wash my coat to get the smell of smoke out of it.

I picked up Mom. The intention was to go out to eat before her 11:30 am appointment (because Lord knows I have plenty to do without taking Mom out to eat afterward), but we didn’t have enough time for a sit-down restaurant. Activate Plan B: I ran into Panera and picked up bagels and coffee (organic chocolate milk for Little Sis) to hold us over until afterward. Twelve dollars later (!!), we were off.

We made it to the kidney clinic 20 minutes early. Fortunately, there’s a TV in the waiting room that Little Sis usually watches. Unfortunately, the volume no longer works (and hasn’t for two months).

It was a long wait.

Forty minutes later, we went next door to the kidney doc’s office. Mom was called back. I read 5 Disney princess books and played more rounds than I care to remember of “Can You Find A Picture of THIS in the Waiting Room Magazines?” Plus, the kidney doc complimented Little Sis’ boots.

Finally, Mom was done. A good visit; Mom was expecting the doc to start prepping her for dialysis, but her labs have looked good lately, so not yet. Whew! But now I have 3 new appointments to run Mom to: More dialysis clinic, another kidney doctor appointment, and a new rheumatologist (even though I REALLY like Mom’s old one. Don’t ask. I don’t get it either).

We let Little Sis pick the restaurant for lunch (she wanted the one with “the big chicken“). She ate spaghetti and Mom & I split a salad. By now it was 2:00 pm. I still had to stop at 2 stores, drive mom 20 minutes home, and get to the bus stop by 3:45 pm. Panic starts to set in.

Boom. Off to the pet store. Cat food, cat litter, and dog food (did I mention that we were so low on dog food this morning that the dog ate cat food for breakfast?).

Boom. Off to Sam’s Club. I had a LONG list of things WE needed from the store, but all I had time to get was Mom’s stuff. Grrrrr.

Boom. Back in the minivan to fight rush hour traffic (at 3 pm already?!?) back to Mom’s.

“You know,” said Mom, “I think YOU were the reason we’re running late today. You didn’t take a shower until after nine o’clock.”

I turned to stare at her.

“You mean after spending the entire day doing things for everybody else, I made an error in judgment spending 15 minutes on my elliptical machine this morning?!?”

I huffed, “Feel free to look for another ride next time. I guess you get what you pay for.”

I tried not to let it bug me, but obviously, it did.

Didn’t bug Mom, though. She’s hopped up on so much Lexapro that she’ll giggle like a schoolgirl at almost anything.

I dropkicked dropped Mom off, cramming the basket of her walker full of her purchases. She has a history of calling me and insisting she’s out of something and NEEDSITRIGHTNOW. Hopefully it’ll save me an emergency trip within 48 hours.

Back across town, fighting school bus traffic now. We made it and picked up Big Sis.

Now for the fun. Big Sis has her regular daily homework (which usually manages to fill up two hours on a good night), her science project (optional, been working on it for three weeks, and due Friday morning), an optional homework assignment (something about inventing a musical instrument out of household materials; she’s been harassing us to borrow pieces of my $2000 trombone and Mr. Hoagie’s flute and recorder), AND a Girl Scout Brownie meeting.

Somehow, she managed to pull it all off.

But it was a hell of a day. Capping off a hell of a week.

In comparison, tomorrow’s gonna be easy. Drop off Big Sis’ science fair project, volunteer at her school, pick up Little Sis, take my midterm exam for my online class, bake brownies for the science fair, pull a homemade meatless dinner out of my @ss, go to the science fair, and spend the rest of the night consoling Big Sis and rocking her to sleep when she doesn’t win (she has issues with competition).

Piece of cake.

I’m so fried.

There’s something about potassium…

It’s been a busy couple of days. Let me see if I can get you caught up:

Friday: Seven swans a-swimming

Mom insists on Christmas shopping for the kids. usually my sister and I do her shopping, but I took her to Target once last spring to shop for their birthdays, and she remembered it.

However, I’ve learned (the hard way) that anytime I take her out into the world, it increases her chances of an “incident” that may result in another hospitalization. The woman is just so fragile…it could be any ONE of her ailments that causes it.

So I put my foot down: I’d take her, but ONLY if she was prepared to shop at 8:00 am. That way, the store would be much less likely to be packed, and it’d make my job easier. Mr. Hoagie was off from work, so he handled getting the kids to school (thanks, honey!).

I picked Mom up at her place at about 8:30 am. We headed to Target–in the POURING RAIN. I pulled up front, unloaded Mom (thank heaven for the golf umbrella), got her a motorized cart (thank heaven for the Target guy who showed us how to use it), and sent her off to shop while I parked the car (I have GOT to get me a handicapped placard).

Mom worked her way through girls’ clothes (thanks for the Christmas dresses!), the toy department, and swung back to pick up new dance leotards. Almost two hours and $200 later, we were done.

I pulled the car up (it was still POURING). I came back inside the store, collected Mom and our packages, and headed back out. As I took out the packages, a gentleman appeared from nowhere with an umbrella. He shielded me just long enough to throw the bags in the trunk and grab my own umbrella. I looked behind me, thanking the nice man profusely, and saw Mom hobbling toward the car with her walker, shielded by a lovely woman with another umbrella. I swooped up with my golf umbrella (thanking HER profusely now) and got Mom settled into the car.

Usually when strangers offer to help me, I’m uncomfortable with letting them. I can do it MYSELF, I think. But this time, it didn’t bother me. I was just plain GRATEFUL, and I really felt that someone upstairs was watching out for us.

So leaving Mom in the car with the hazards flashing, I darted back inside Target to the Starbucks nestled within. I ordered a couple of light peppermint mocha Frappuccinos and a couple of soft pretzels. Back out to the car…where Mom reminded me that she’s not supposed to have chocolate on her kidney diet. Or dairy. Something about high potassium.

CRAP.

She drank it anyway. We headed to her 11 am hair appointment. Then to the post office, to pick up my Amazon.com package full of Christmas presents (couldn’t pick that up with kids in the car), then off to lunch at a new pizza place. Mom’s dietician had said that she could have tomatoes and cheese in moderation, due to their high potassium level, so we ordered a white pizza with a few tomato slices.

So we’re sitting there at lunch when my cell phone rings. It’s the nurse at the kidney clinic. They just got her labs back from two days earlier, and her potassium is a little high.

“Really?” I asked, as I grabbed the last bite of potassium-rich slice number three out of Chiquita’s hand and threw it down on the table.

“Do you know if it could be because of her diet?” she asked.

“Well, I don’t eat with her at EVERY meal….” I’m terrified that she’ll somehow be able to peer though my cell phone and see what’s laid out on the table in front of us.

“We’ll need to test her potassium again…do you think you might be able to get her to a lab?”

So I made arrangements to take her to the local Vampires R Us–I mean, lab. We paid our check and I loaded her up into the car, grumbling about potassium the whole way.

“So what did you eat before that test, Mom?”

“Wasn’t that the day you brought me that bagel with cream cheese?”

CRAP!

AGAIN.

We go to the lab, and Mom bets that it has to be a fasting blood test. So I hike up the stairs to see if they’d gotten the faxed order and to see if Mom could have it done that day.

Yes, and yes.

So back down the stairs, collect Mom and her walker, back up the elevator and into the lab’s waiting room.

Cue the Muzak. Pierced occasionally by the screams of a 13-year-old boy who’s CLEARLY terrified of needles.

*sigh*

He comes out after being successfully and painlessly stabbed in the arm. Chiquita’s turn.

Twenty minutes later, she returns. Apparently they only got about 3 drops out of her, and they don’t expect them to be able to test such a small quantity. We’ll probably have to come back next week.

Ugh.

We leave the lab, and I call home. Big Sis has a doctor’s appointment that day after school, and I was planning to leave Little Sis with Chiquita. It’s already after 2 pm, and I calculate that I’ll save at least half an hour in travel time if I just pick up Little Sis now and drop both of them at Chiquita’s.

As you can imagine, I’m getting tired. We pick up Big Sis from the bus, have an after-school snack consisting of a blueberry muffin, and have to leave. She’s still hungry, so I grab a cup of milk and a couple of peeled oranges and bring them to the car.

Upon discovering that the milk and oranges are her only options, Big Sis begins to pout.

Wail.

Cry.

Scream.

Plead to be taken to McDonald’s.

Folks, that half-hour drive was HELL. By the time we get her in and out of the doctor’s office, Mr. Hoagie and I have HAD. IT.

And we still have to go collect Little Sis from Chiquita’s.

By the time we get home, it’s after 7:30 pm, and only 25% of us have had dinner.

Did I mention I had a party to host the next day?

The One-Year Mark: Part 5

Let’s recap, shall we? My sister arranges to move out of town, leaving my 68-year-old aging mom stranded in Chicago area.

Dutiful daughter that I am, my family and I decide to move Mom closer to us. We go to Chicago for a visit for Thanksgiving 2007, and on the drive home to Pittsburgh, we prop my diabetic, obese, cardiac-patient Mom (aka Chiquita or Grandma Chiquita) in the front seat of the minivan. Here goes nothin’.

Cue the chest pains. There’s a stop in the ER in Sandusky, Ohio; some vomiting by my 6-year-old; and then we arrive home. Where we wait nearly three weeks for her moving truck to arrive. My walker-and-wheelchair-using mom now has to climb 2 flights of stairs each day to her bedroom.

Here’s what a typical day looked like over those few weeks:

7:00 am: Kids and I wake up, get dressed and ready for school. Look in on Mom (or just check to make sure I can hear her snore)

7:30 am: Breakfast for kids & Chiquita. Kids eat at kitchen table, Mom gets a tray in her room. She’s so weak and diabetic, I don’t want her attempting the stairs before breakfast.

8:15 am: Leave for bus stop; stop in to let Mom know we’re going. Chances are, she’s still asleep.

8:30 am: Breakfast for me; make coffee for Mom and me. Park Little Sis in front of the TV so I can…

8:45 am to ?: Head upstairs to give Mom a shower and “treatment.” Of course, she’s still asleep. Once she wakes, I’ll help her with breakfast (not that she really needs the help so much as she’s so co-dependent she’ll take any help anyone’s dumb enough to give her…that’d be me). She takes her pills (13 at the time). Then a shower, and her “treatment.” I’ll spare you the details except to say that it involves washing & powdering her delicate skin condition.

Late morning: Help Chiquita down the stairs and get her settled in front of Fox News (*gag*), where she’ll repeat the day’s headlines to me almost incessantly.

Sometime before lunch (hopefully): Cleanup duty begins; head back up to her room, strip the bed and wash the sheets (wet from incontinence), her towels (one from shower plus 2-3 more for her treatment), her pajamas and the previous day’s clothes (she only packed enough for a few days). Bring down her breakfast tray and do kitchen cleanup. Start lunch; must be healthy because I’m feeding a diabetic cardiac patient.

After lunch: take care of my 3 year old (hey, remember her?), alternating with fielding “What are you DOING?” from Mom and losing my mind because I SO did not sign up for this howamIsupposedtocookandcleananddolaundryand groceryshopand handlemykidsandmyhusbandandnowmymomtoo!

3:45 pm: Pick up Big Sis from school bus. Great, now I have three people to take care of!

4:30 pm Start dinner; must be healthy because I’m feeding a diabetic cardiac patient. Must also be something that picky Big Sis will eat unless we want a battle at the dinner table. Allow extra time for incessant interruptions. As 6 pm nears and am interrupted for the 34th time, shout “DO YOU PEOPLE WANT TO EAT DINNER TONIGHT OR NOT?!?”

6:15 pm Mr. Hoagie gets home from work. Inwardly rejoice because the cavalry has arrived.

6:16 pm Heart sinks as he trudges upstairs for a “quick nap” before dinner. Inwardly seethe, slamming pots and pans, until I…

6:20 pm …remember that he’s epileptic so his neurologist has given him carte blanche on sleep. Say a quick prayer of thanks that he didn’t have a seizure driving home from work and kill himself and six other people and commence to feeling guilty that I inwardly seethed at all.

6:45 pm Start dinner for five. Repeatedly get up to get stuff for people. Listen to regurgitated Fox News headlines. Mediate kids’ arguments. Count bites for whiny, perpetually hunger-striking Big Sis. Eat cold food and start clearing table.

7:30 pm Encourage everyone to head up to bed, knowing that that’s the only way I’ll get any peace. Chiquita needs to go up before she’s too tired; we had several instances of wobbliness and near-falls over those weeks.

7:31 pm Chiquita turns Fox News back on.

8:15 pm Kids head upstairs; Mr. Hoagie puts them to bed.

8:20 pm Chiquita (reluctantly) heads upstairs, supported by me.

8:26 pm Arrive at top of stairs. Assist Chiquita in getting ready for bed, including (whoo hoo) another treatment.

9:15 pm Chiquita is tucked in and watching prime time TV in the dark. She invites me to stay and watch with her, but I weasel out of it (feeling guilty) because I. AM. BEYOND.DONE.

9:20 pm Curl up on the couch with Mr. Hoagie to watch The Daily Show.

9:30 pm Fall asleep on the couch.

10:15 pm Mr. Hoagie wakes me up so I can drag my sorry butt to bed. I get to do it all over again tomorrow.

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6

The One-Year Mark: Part 4

The rest of the drive from Sandusky to Pittsburgh passed uneventfully. Chiquita had no further chest pains, and Big Sis was extra tired that day, but had no more episodes of vomiting.

The next part of the story lasted nearly three weeks. We thought that Mom’s moving truck would arrive by the end of the week.

It didn’t.

It didn’t arrive the following week, either.

To make a ridiculously long story short (okay, I know it’s WAY too late for that), my sister’s friend’s dad ran a moving company. We went with them because they were family friends, yadda yadda. Mom’s stuff was now on a truck with other people’s stuff, and they were all due to be delivered first. Now, granted, Mom’s stuff was by far the smallest shipment on that truck (it was just a one-bedroom apartment), but by week two, we were tearing our hair out (mostly me).

Where was Mom staying, you ask? Oh, right. With us. In a guest bedroom on the second floor.

Did I mention there’s two flights of stairs between the garage and the second floor? Or that she’s not so good with stairs?

And at that time, we began to notice Mom’s fatigue increase. Understandable under all the stress, sure, but mostly because her anemia returned. She was due for a Procrit shot.

And did I mention that she didn’t yet have a new doctor? (Though the old one was good enough to tell us that Chiquita was in bad enough shape that the trip alone might kill her.)

So let’s recap: two flights of stairs a day (for an undetermined amount of time) for a weak, anemic, stressed cardiac diabetic who was not, at that moment, under a doctor’s care?

This was gonna be rough. I didn’t want her to kick the bucket the first week on my watch!

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6

The One-Year Mark: Part One

Well, it’s been one year since my mom moved to Pennsylvania to live near us. Have I ever told you kids how it came to be? No? Well, I’ve always meant to, so grab a cup of tea and settle in….

My mom had been living in a senior apartment building in the Chicago suburbs, in the same town where my sister lived. My family and I would come in 3 or 4 times a year for visits, but my sister was Mom’s primary lifeline when she needed errands run or a ride to the doctor. She was great with Chiquita, but she was also a busy single working professional. She averaged about 1-2 visits a week, mostly on weekends. Then she got a promotion, which involved frequent business trips to Atlanta, thereby making her even busier. Eventually, she was offered a full-time position in Atlanta, and after serious consideration, decided she’d go for it.

But what about Mom?

I knew it would be a pretty drastic change for all of us, but after some serious discussion with Mr. Hoagie, my mom, and my sister, it was agreed that moving Chiquita to PA would be the best option. The timing worked out well; for a while, my husband was considering a job change, but he’d just gotten a transfer to a new position that he liked, so that was settled.

There was a beautiful senior housing community that had just been built as we moved into town seven years ago, and we’d always had our eye on it. We had even visited a couple years before. It featured independent senior apartments and assisted living (plus and Alzheimer’s unit) all in the same building, with plans to expand into villas (townhouses for seniors). Twenty meals a month were included in the rent. I pictured happy Sunday dinners and folding Mom into the kids’ activities. It’d be great, right?

The only hiccup was that Mr. Hoagie and Chiquita were…well, not best buddies. I could handle it, though…I’d see Mom during the day when he was at work.

To make a long story short(er), arrangements were made, housing was procured, movers were hired, and the Saturday after Thanksgiving in 2007, we piled the four of us plus Mom into the minivan, and headed for Pittsburgh.

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6