My mother has stopped resisting offers of help - this is good, because she needs help with stuff like getting cleaned, getting dressed, food preparation and cooking, hanging out washing, getting around and buying groceries. On the other hand, I'm very very glad she isn't doing the equivalent of ringing a little bell whenever she wants something.
She's too hot, and needs help removing her cardigan; now she's too cold, and wants help putting it back on again; she tells me to chop up the veges; peel some oranges; cut her up an apple; get some fish balls out of the freezer; put her socks on. Instructions are issued rapid-fire as though they must be done as soon as she thinks of them.
But then, I look at her hurt arm and it's about 50% bigger than the other one; it's a scary dark red tinged with blue, purple and yellow. She had to stop using the Voltarin because they were giving her stomach cramps, and the codeine is apparently having some other nasty side effects, so she's having to rely on regular doses of Panadol.
So I just take a deep breath and get it done.
4 comments:
I got an email entitled "my mum does drugs" from my uncle saying that he got Nana some Tramol and she's no longer in pain... I have to say I loved Tramol when I was in hospital, but I think it's really expensive over the counter.
The bruising sounds scary, but if she's ordering you around she must be OK... Why are they called patients when being a patient makes them and you anything but! Good luck!
"Why are they called patients when being a patient makes them and you anything but!" - that's a very good question. Maybe patients exist to try our patience.
I hope your poor mum gets better soon and remember to take it easy yourself...
mtnw: so do I, and I'll try even if it means milking the old pregant-lady-must-rest thing as much as possible.
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