Levelling Out

A few weeks back, life was busily tossing stones in my face, and so many came at me so hard and so fast that I could only break or defy it. I chose defiance. It was the right decision. But lately the rocks have been a bit ... larger. For that, the only way to fight is to give in.

Yes, you heard me - give in. Not in an it's-cold-oh-I-just-want-to-sleep kind of way, but in an it's-raining-boulders-wow-I-can-make-islands-in-my-lawn kind of way. Not giving up, but surrendering to the inevitable.

My mother's illness is worse. That is no surprise - it's the kind of thing that does get worse - but a new, miracle medication turned into a nightmare for her caretaker (my sister) when the transport method changed from subdermal (Mom developed a skin allergy to the machine) to direct injection (into her chest). The first method entailed mixing the medication with the IV solution, putting it in the pump, two steps and a long window, no sweat. It was so easy that even my mom, with her Swiss-cheese memory, could do it (with reminder for time, of course, by mouth or by phone). The new methodology came with a bigger system, two weeks of training, and has multiple steps with multiple pieces of machinery and multiple places in which a single step forgotten or done even one note off-key could prove fatal. Mom can't remember all the steps, even with an illustrated list. And, since the solution must be mixed at the moment of need, my sister is now unable to leave the house or even the area for more than 48 hours - there's a four hour window that shouldn't be pushed because if respiratory distress is begun, the patient will likely die. Oh, and by the way, the medical community won't provide trained personnel to administer these dosages because of liability issues, not even in a nursing home. And this med, with its ridiculously complex system, is so new that even if Mom went to the ER she'd have to bring the meds and equipment with her (no one knows if the doctors could or would do the procedure even there).

There's a reason neither me, my sister, or my brother went into medicine - we don't have the temperment or the aptitute or (frankly) the fortitude. She (Sis) was just getting back to herself after her husband died. She's raising two teenager daughters. Now she's forced into a life-or-death situation every two days. This is wrong. And I'm pissed. Oh, not with fate - I am, however, furious with my mother's doctor. He knew the strings attached to this new therapy. He knew my mother couldn't hold a thought for more than a few minutes at a time and so was incapable of doing this job herself. He also knew there was no one who could come in to administer the meds to the patient if the caretaker had to ... oh, I don't know ... leave town three or four times a year because, though she works from home, she has to go into her job's physical building every few months to earn a living to pay his bill. Yet he never spoke with her. Not once.

Not that she's complaining. But - no shit - she's stressed out. I can relieve her for a week or two twice a year (December and June), and I can (and am) working to organize my schedule and students (no substitutes in my job) so I can get away at a moment's notice if she needs me. But it will take time.

Maybe this really is a miracle drug. Maybe Mom will recover enough that she can rewire the missing sections of her brain (my most fervent prayer). Or maybe the medical community will catch up with this new regimen. Maybe I can raise enough of a stink that they will. And maybe I'll be heading to Texas several times a year for the rest of my life, dealing with the life-or-death tension in the primary instead of the vicarious. No matter which way this goes, I will step up to the plate (hopefully) with as little complaint, and (please) as much grace as she has shown.

And I can level out the field, lie out on all those new boulders, and enjoy the sun.