Mamma Has a Seizure

When I close my eyes, even for a couple of seconds, I start to go to sleep. It’s cold back here– in room 7 in the Walker Baptist Medical Center emergency department (they call them that now rather than emergency room, like back when life was simpler.) I’ve got on my Marine Corps t-shirt with the sleeves cut out. I ought to walk out to my truck and at least get something with sleeves. There’s no telling how much longer we’ll be back here. I’ve lost count of the hospitals and emergency rooms– excuse me, emergency departments in the past month.

Mom had a seizure this afternoon. She was at the physical rehab place. She’s been there four days. Chad was with her, thank God. She was totally non-r– well, there’s no need to go into all that. We’re at the hospital now. They’ll admit her and see if they can see why she had a seizure. She’s not had one before. It would be okay with me if she didn’t have one again. It scared the shit out of Chad. He’s was praying over her and “speaking to the evil.” (His words, not mine.) Who knows, if I’da been there when it happened, I might have been “speaking to the evil” too. I’ve about had enough of this shit. We could do with a smooth spell for a while, my family. I’m supposed to be leaving for the prayer ceremony in Texas in two weeks. Clearly I need it.

I spent the day at the V.A. myself. My doctor called and told me to come in. They’re trying to figure out why my left foot has been swollen like a nerf football for two weeks. If it were my heart or kidneys the swelling would be bilateral. If it were gout or some other infection there would be fever and pain. It’s just swelling. Well, actually now that I’m wearing this compression stocking (yes, it’s come to that, old man) it is hurting pretty good. Mom’s got a Percocet at home and you bet your ass I’m taking it when I get home. Plus I’ve been up since about 04:30 this morning. Nightmares all night last night. (It was nice to see Adam again though, haha.) When the doctors had run out of ideas, they scoped around in my ankle joint with a needle about the size of a #2 pencil. I actually find that kind of shit fun and interesting. I know, I’m weird. The resident tried her hand at it first with no success. Then the attending took over. He was jabbing it in at every possible angle. When he’d hit the bone the third time, he said, “You’re a pretty tough guy, huh?” I reminded him that I am a Marine. The resident loved that. She had my balls in her hands five minutes after that. Okay, okay, she was checking me for testicular cancer but I had you going for a second didn’t I? They then sent me back to the blood draw lab for a second sample in less than an hour. This one’s to check my PSA and make sure I don’t have prostate cancer. I’m pretty sure I don’t. I don’t think that’s the way it ends for me. It did occur to me how ironic it would be if I didn’t make it through this “year to live” business but died because God killed me and not at my own hand! (That’ll learn me.)

Okay, enough jocularity. This jock is going to fold his massive arms, bow his head, and catch some of those good ole emergency room z’s. Nothing like ’em. Excuse me, emergency department z’s.

See y’all tomorrow.