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Things I’m Going to Do When This is Over
For those of you just tuning in, I basically live in a nursing home with my 94-year-old mom. The days bleed together and I’m not even sure how long we’ve been here. I just got a bill for $16,000 for a glorified motel room and bad food my mom doesn’t eat.
The guy across the hall is on hospice and sounds like he’s coughing up his pancreas. He can have all the Ativan, Dilauded, and Suboxone he wants. (Privacy is not a thing in a nursing home.)
My dad was a three-pack-a-day smoker. My mom has developed a cough, which means her congestive heart failure is progressing.
1. I will live alone and never hear anybody cough ever again.
The food might be okay, but since my mom can’t swallow, it’s all puréed. They give her a tiny cup with a slice of puréed bread in it with every meal. Whatever you’re imagining, it’s worse than that.
2. I will eat nothing but salad, pasta, and vegetables. I will never eat McDonald’s ever, ever again.
Speaking of which:
3. I will never again order DoorDash and pay $20 for a Quarter Pounder and small fries.
The hospice caregiver’s guide they gave me yesterday says that my extreme fatigue is not unusual. Nevertheless,
