My mother is failing fast. Thursday, when I went to sit with her, she managed to get herself to the bathroom with great deliberation, but she did it on her own, using the walker. Today, I needed to wheel her to the bathroom from her wheel chair, and help her pull her pants down so she could sit, I had to wipe her, I had to flush for her. My mom, who is so fastidious about her hygeine didn't even care that she hadn't washed her hands. She will be gone very, very soon. She's in so much pain, that she doesn't care if she eats, she is in so much pain that she's out of her mind crabby, she's feeling so much pain, she can't get comfortable laying down, or sitting in her recliner, or in her wheelchair. She just keeps going in and out of sleep, she pops her eyes open to whine a little and to say 'oh, god' and to sigh. I wish she would just go to sleep.
Her stomach is distended, it must be an organ inside that is inflamed , she keeps complaining of pain in her stomach, but she's on so much pain medication and not eating, that it's likely she's just nauseaous from the chemicals. She's declined since last week, when my granddaughter, 4 month Aurora Jane was placed in the bed with mom, and they kind of grinned and cooed at each other. Mom is not even aware this week. This is very, very sad.
I didn't feel like talking to anyone after visiting the nursing home this evening, I was still processing the fact that I had just wiped my mothers butt, and changed her clothes a few times this afternoon. I went straight to the produce store, and bought fresh veggies to make a roasted veggie pasta salad. And, 32.00 later, i schlepped it into the house, turned the oven on 450 degrees, and got to work chopping and peeling red peppers, yellow and green squash, egg plant, vidalia onions, portorbella mushrooms as big as my head. I peeled carrots, and snapped 2 pounds of pencil asparagus. I doused it with olive oil and I set it all to roast. The apartment filled with smoke and I turned on the air conditioning, and fan- full blast. The apartment continued to fill with smoke, and when I opened the oven door, there were little fires dancing around the electric element. I tapped them out with my tongs. Now, a few days ago, I made some very nice, healthy brownies for the guys. They had whole wheat flour and agave nectar in them, and I was proud that I was feeding my family good for you food. The pan I used was too shallow, and the brownies spilled over the top, running down the bottom of the oven and causing quite a smokey mess that day. Then, I lazily allowed the roasted veggies to bake in this filth, and thinking they would take on the taste of an outdoor grill (ok, live and learn) I baked off veggies for an hour.
The taste is unbelieveable. I can't describe it, but it's foul. The fact that I spared no expense, wasted so much time, effort, energy, and cooked enough for an army that I never intended to feed, makes me feel even stupider. Yes, I continued to eat veggies as I cut and chopped and baked. That part is the surface addict in me dealing with the pain of my mothers condition. The part that I am scared about is under neath it all- not stopping my mission to assess the situation, I plowed through it, even when I knew it wasn't going to work, I'd over did the task, I could not apply the brakes.
In my kitchen sits a huge, huge restaurant sized silver bowl of roasted veggies, marinating in olive oil, ready for service. They're set for the garbage disposal, since that would be the only willing recipient of the whole mess.