My Mother, someone who knows nothing of this site due to my tendency to be unabashedly candid and offensive, is in the hospital. She has spinal meningitis. Ultimately, it's an infection in her spinal fluid that developed and moved into her brain, rendering her into a coma-ish state. Not sure if it fit the definition of a coma, but I've always marveled at the frustration one could feel about seeing a loved one who just won't, you know, wake up. I got a taste of that feeling Friday when I saw her in the intensive care unit. I went back to the hospital Saturday and she was awake and smiling, but didn't know quite what was going on. Her brain was still shell shocked from the infection but she was responsive. Her speaking consisted of incomplete sentences - all subjects no predicates - but I felt a mixed blessing that she knew who I was and where she was at, but that we had to ask her and the chance she wouldn't know the answer to those questions saddened me greatly.
The hospital rooms where she's staying have wide chairs with hide-a-beds that fold out. The springs are so noisy that I defy anyone to sleep in one without making enough noise to wake up the patient/loved one in whose room you're staying. Mom is waking up fairly easy and last night I guess I kept her up a bit, so I'm staying home tonight after I visit her this afternoon. It's a good thing, the hide a bed is atrocity in the world of sleep. How did someone develop a bed that is so uncomfortable that the user cannot sleep and so noisy that anyone around them can't sleep either?
I'm sure if I proofread this, I will find errors and some nonsense. I am, however, to tired to care. (but not too tired to use parenthetical comma-separated phrases apparently). I'm awake simply because of a medically frowned upon amount of caffeine consumption. I must sleep tonight.
goochout.
