My mom would never have had fun if she was a teenager in the 60's and 70's. The slightest variation in medication and she goes a bit off. Tonight, after taking her sleeping medication and the new medication the doctor prescribed for seizures, she didn't make a lick of sense. It upset my dad and he called me in the bedroom to decipher what she was saying. She was talking about the medication and then said something about the recipe and I said, "It's ok mom, we'll talk about it tomorrow morning when you're making sense." She kept babbling on and on and she was falling asleep in the wheelchair. My dad and I had to get her up from the wheelchair and help her onto the bed, and my dad lifted her legs up so she could lay down. She's only about 120 pounds, but she seemed alot heavier as I tried to get her to a standing position so she could hold onto her walker as we guided her into bed. I kept saying, "Wake up, mom!" I felt like the mother of a stoned or drunk teenager that I was trying to get into bed so she could sleep it off.
My dad stayed in the bedroom with her until she fell asleep, then came looking for me. He just shook his head and kept saying that she wasn't making sense. He was listening to her and trying to make sense out of what she was saying. I told him that it was like she was high and she wouldn't be making sense and she should take those meds right before getting into bed so this type of thing doesn't happen again. I felt like I was giving my dad a lesson on drugs. But after thinking about it, of course he would have no idea, because they never used drugs. On the other hand, I would have quite a bit more knowledge on the subject because, well, let's just say that I would.
Everything we do here it seems is done in slow motion. My mom likes to sit in the wheelchair instead of walking with the walker and so she pushes herself around by her feet - very slowly. She reminds me of the little old man who Tim Conway played on the Carol Burnett show. She gets there, but it takes a lonnnnnnggg time. So while I'm waiting for her to get to the kitchen table, I sit in the rolling kitchen chair and watch tv or play on my phone, because there's not enough room in the hallway if we both try to get there. If my dad with his walker, collides with my mom in her wheelchair, then somebody has to get out of the way. It's usually my mom. But then, she goes in reverse, as slowly as she was going forward. I just sit, watch and wait until the coast is clear. Me with my cane, my dad with his walker and my mom with her wheelchair is quite a sight to behold. And when she is actually using her walker, she goes even slower, talking out loud, telling herself to "step with my heel first, then my toe, heel first, then toe," something she learned at the nursing home. She learned a lot of useful things at the nursing home. She learned that her "grabber" is not only good for grabbing, but for pushing and pulling and even getting her shoes on. The grabber helps me grab things off of high shelves that the three of us could never reach, so I really enjoy the little tool too.
We are going to the doctor tomorrow and Friday again, so I have that to look forward to in the heat and humidity. I think I should buy or make a bandana sort of thing, to bind around my head so all the sweat can be caught in the fabric. I think it would probably look ridiculous, but it would definitely serve its purpose. I think I will look for that next time I'm at WalMart. Maybe I can find a cool one, like a biker's scarf and pretend I'm a biker. It wouldn't work, of course. Just one look at me and you can tell I'm no biker. I can't even walk. Oh well, I can pretend, can't I? It would be kind of humorous tho, while I'm scooting around WalMart or Publix in the motorized scooter. That's about the closest to a biker chick that I'll ever be.
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