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katherine_b at 10:14pm on 20/12/2004
katherine_b at 10:14pm on 20/12/2004Please excuse foul language in this entry. I am trying not to swear, but a saint would swear after the day I've had. Voila:
Intended plan for today:
9am. Be dressed, have had breakfast, clean house.
10am. Mum comes home from hospital. Chat.
1pm. Lunch
1.30pm. Work on thesis
5.30pm. Watch TV and relax
Actual plan for today:
9.30am. Dressed, have had breakfast, have cleaned house.
10.30am. Mum gets home from hospital, having been delayed by the stupid staff and had 'discussion' with car park attendants over the fact that they were so long in leaving.
11am. Mum sleeps, I work on thesis.
1.27pm. Begin preparing lunch.
1.30pm. Mum has seizure.
1.35pm. Ambulance arrives. Mum finally stops fitting. (Yes, five whole fucking minutes!!!) Dad calls the doctor who is standing in for my mother's neuro-oncologist.
2pm. Mum recovering slowly.
2.30pm. Give up on idea of work. Fetch book and sit in lounge with Mum. Mum begins complaining of slight breathlessness. Mum also says she thinks she will die soon. Only half jokingly, I ask if she means today. She says no.
3.45pm. Finally call Bethlehem (home for terminally ill, who also send out nurses and care staff to people who are slowly dying but aren't quite in need of hospital care).
4pm. Mum starts feeling (and looking) better. She says she doesn't think she will die yet.
4.30pm. Bethlehem lady arrives. Mum looking pretty darned good considering she was fitting for five minutes straight (still can't believe that!). Mum goes to bed.
5pm. Give up on idea of work and procrastinate until "Deal or No Deal" (which I like) begins at 5.30pm.
6pm. Get dinner
From 6.30pm. Watch TV.
You know, I have to agree with that old saying about people make plans and God laughs Himself into hysterics over them. I think that's the way it goes anyway.
I'm just sick of all this already, and we've still got weeks, or maybe even months of it. I'm not sure how much more I can really take.
Oh, and the neuro-oncologist still hasn't called back. Fuck her.
Intended plan for today:
9am. Be dressed, have had breakfast, clean house.
10am. Mum comes home from hospital. Chat.
1pm. Lunch
1.30pm. Work on thesis
5.30pm. Watch TV and relax
Actual plan for today:
9.30am. Dressed, have had breakfast, have cleaned house.
10.30am. Mum gets home from hospital, having been delayed by the stupid staff and had 'discussion' with car park attendants over the fact that they were so long in leaving.
11am. Mum sleeps, I work on thesis.
1.27pm. Begin preparing lunch.
1.30pm. Mum has seizure.
1.35pm. Ambulance arrives. Mum finally stops fitting. (Yes, five whole fucking minutes!!!) Dad calls the doctor who is standing in for my mother's neuro-oncologist.
2pm. Mum recovering slowly.
2.30pm. Give up on idea of work. Fetch book and sit in lounge with Mum. Mum begins complaining of slight breathlessness. Mum also says she thinks she will die soon. Only half jokingly, I ask if she means today. She says no.
3.45pm. Finally call Bethlehem (home for terminally ill, who also send out nurses and care staff to people who are slowly dying but aren't quite in need of hospital care).
4pm. Mum starts feeling (and looking) better. She says she doesn't think she will die yet.
4.30pm. Bethlehem lady arrives. Mum looking pretty darned good considering she was fitting for five minutes straight (still can't believe that!). Mum goes to bed.
5pm. Give up on idea of work and procrastinate until "Deal or No Deal" (which I like) begins at 5.30pm.
6pm. Get dinner
From 6.30pm. Watch TV.
You know, I have to agree with that old saying about people make plans and God laughs Himself into hysterics over them. I think that's the way it goes anyway.
I'm just sick of all this already, and we've still got weeks, or maybe even months of it. I'm not sure how much more I can really take.
Oh, and the neuro-oncologist still hasn't called back. Fuck her.
depressed
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