My mom was moved from intensive care to a regular room on Wednesday and she finally came home yesterday. We found out several things from her hospital stay: she has probably had the staph infection for a number of years, maybe even since her car wreck in 1997; she has had pneumonia and bronchitis for a number of years that were assumed to be flare-ups and treated with antibiotics and steroids until she got better, which never lasted long; she had a cracked rib that no one ever caught, again, probably from the car wreck; her liver enzymes were up, probably from the painkillers; and she has a leaky heart valve, most likely from taking phen-fen in the mid-90’s, that causes her breathlessness.
The doctor was also suspicious that she might have sleep apnea, so she’ll be doing a sleep study in a couple of weeks. When the staph is cleared up once and for all, her health should improve dramatically. The doctor said after a while, she wouldn’t need oxygen unless she was exercising or sleeping. My dad joked that the old men at Wal-Mart aren’t going to flirt with her any more if she’s not carrying around an oxygen tank any longer.
She’s also going to start using this machine that shakes her chest to loosen stuff in her lungs. Dad and I used to do it manually, but this thing is way cooler. It looks like one of those old-fashioned machines that people used to shake the fat off their bodies. Put a martini in her hand and it would be perfect.
I’m going to Springfield today to buy her a 46" flat-screen TV. I think she deserves a treat after all she’s been through. And of course, I’m thrilled she’s getting it because I get to watch it too, especially during our scary movie marathon. I’m thinking it’s time for me to start carving some pumpkins and making some caramel and candied apples.
Speaking of "Halloween," I’m watching it for the second time this year. The first time was with Lane. Don’t tell Cynda. Oh crap, she reads my blog, but I’m too lazy to hit the delete button. Don’t worry, he wasn’t really scared by it. But he is very clever. In one of those creepy scenes where Michael Myers is standing in Jamie Lee Curtis’ backyard and then it cuts to her and back to the yard and he’s no longer standing there, Lane told me it was impossible for Michael Myers to have moved that quickly. He is so stinking smart, because I had just been thinking that same thing.
He told me something very cute, about how he wanted a big cat and a small dog so the dog would be too afraid to bark at the cat, so I proceeded to write it in my journal. He asked, "Are you writing about me?" I told him yes. So he got out his "journal" and drew a picture of me and him standing under a rainbow, holding hands.
When I got to Gerry and Cynda’s house Thursday night, it was almost bedtime and Cynda was reading to Lane and Emma. I sat down with them and was talked into reading "Skippyjon Jones" to them. It was about a Siamese cat who thought he was a Chihuahua. We had a lot of fun. Cynda laughed at me, so I laughed at Cynda laughing and I think the kids were laughing at all the laughing. Emma was clapping her hands together and then said, "I’ve gotta write that down," and went to grab a pencil and some paper. I’ve got two little writers in the making.
I thought maybe Emma had been watching "The Addams Family," because when I got in the shower yesterday morning, there were 40 million Barbies and Bratz dolls in the tub, and every last one of them was headless. Cynda told me later that Lane and Emma had both done it, taking off all the heads and then putting them back on.