My mother was released from the hospital on Tuesday (Jan. 26), exactly four weeks since she was first admitted for the cellulitis attack (mentioned in my January 12th post). This of course is a very good thing, because as time wore on the hospital stay was getting her down, and isn’t there a saying that no one gets well in a hospital? Anyway, she came home, and now has a brigade of home health staff, a nurse and a physical therapist and maybe an occupational therapist next week. And me, because I’ve been there something like 4 1/2 hours per day, mostly just being with her and making meals and such. The biggest issue was getting her medications in order again, since the hospital’s doctors changed everything around in addition to adding a couple of meds. The home nurse brought a huge honkin’ pill strip and filled it up, which helps immensely.
I probably won’t have to be with her as much next week, since it looks like she’s settling in. It’s not that I don’t want to be there, but she wants to be as independent as she was, and I see no reason why that won’t happen. I’ll be shopping for her for a while. And I’m guessing it’ll be a while before she can resume her competitive ballroom dancing career, but that’ll just make the comeback tour that much sweeter. (FYI: That’s a joke. I got my lack of dancing ability from my mom.)
I have to admit that Mom being home makes me feel better too. No more feeling uncertain about what’s happening, or feeling like we’re in a holding pattern; that helps a lot. Not that the world is full of only good news. The husband of one of my cousins had a stroke this week, and he’s certainly not “old enough” to have one of those (except, of course, I know strokes don’t only afflict the aged) and it’s just made me very sad. And other family members have serious problems, too. But with Mom home and improving, at least there’s one load off my mind (or at least shifted to a better part of my mind).