My Name is Kris and I Blah-g

I. AM. AN. EMOTIONAL. EATER.I am sitting here scarfing an apple crumb muffin from Costco. Yes one of those huge ones. I just finished off a cheese quesadilla. I feel a surge of guilt swelling in the pit of my stomach and I. DON’T. CARE. I don’t care because I just came from touring a rehab facility that will become my mother’s home for the next couple of weeks. It was old. It smelled funny. The old people in it could barely move. Their emotionless faces stared back at me as I stood there thinking that I could not let my mother live there.  Yet she must if she is to get better. Sure there are more “resort like” places we could send her to but then she’ll be ignored there as what the reviews and ratings are saying. This place that she will go to comes highly rated despite appearances. And it is quickly becoming a bitter pill to swallow.Last week Mom lost function of the left side of her body. Unable to get herself to the bathroom, let alone move, there was no other choice than to call 911 to help get her to the hospital. For the past week she has battled Lactic Acidosis, a urinary tract infection, a kidney infection and some other unnamed infection that she picked up from the hospital. Massive doses of antibiotics, several blood transfusions and scores of pills later, internally her numbers are under control and she is getting back to health. Yet her left side remains weak – crippled by arthritis and gout. Her pain is substantial. She cries out whenever anyone tries to move her. She wants to come home. I want her to come home. We all do. But she can’t. Not like this.The prognosis is that the vertebrae in her cervical spine has deteriorated to the point that it’s compromised her spinal cord. Left untreated she could face a future of paralysis. Surgery scares her. It scares me. But it’s the only way she can find relief. But she can’t have it until she’s stronger. And she can’t get stronger until she has it. What is she to do? In addition to these decisions that she faces, she is feeling a sense of rejection. Her only source of healthcare is Medicare. Medicare has strict rules and according to hospital administrators she has overstayed her welcome. She must leave, they tell her. She can’t stay there. Yesterday she was moved from the 1st floor to the 3rd floor – a not so subtle way of saying, if you don’t get out, we’ll neglect you until you leave. The difference in attention she has received in the past 16 hours is palpable. So we are working hard to get her out as soon as possible.The next stop isn’t much better. We anticipate her spirits lowering further when she gets an eyeful of these new digs. We’ll do all we can to make sure she keeps motivated to get out. She must. We want her there even less than she’ll want to be there. I guess that I may as well get used to the place myself. I plan on spending lots of time there – I may even move in. Just so she knows that she’s not in this alone.In the meantime, the diet is shot to hell. I’ve gained 2 lbs this week. This bloody muffin is tastin’ pretty good….