It's been a week since my mom was returned home from the hospice because it was decided her situation was under control and she no longer needed the home.
Sure, tell that to me every morning when she awakes -- anywhere from 3 a.m. to 10 a.m. -- and restarts her maddening pursuit of escaping her hospital bed.
She did so without my help twice Tueaday. Her will is so feeaking strong you can't keep her in the bed. It's both frustrating and impressive.
Unfortunately, she can't walk, so when she does escape the bed, she just collapses onto the floor. More anguishing is that once she is returned to the bed, she is hellbent on getting back out, like she didn't just lay helplessly on the floor for the past six hours.
One time on Tuesday, she did organize a master plan, like she was Andy in Shawshank. She crawled from the floor to the bump that goes up to the living room, ordered me to get her a pillow, then laid on said pillow and planked her way over the bump.
Before she had escaped from the bed, she had had me spread a blanket on the hard living room floor. Now with her pillow, she started sliding across the living room like she was going head first down a waterpark slide.
She got halfway across the living room before I stopped her. It was so freaking impressive, like when Baxter ate the whole wheel of cheese in Anchorman.
"No one leaves here until my ass gets in the shower," she vehemently declared.
She was headed all the way to the bathroom down the hall, which is pretty much her life mission now. It's like if she gets to the bathroom, she has escaped prison.
It took forever to get her back in the bed and calmed down. And you guessed it, she was doggedly trying to get out of the bed a few hours later.
Here are some other things mom has said in the past week. FYI, her condition hasn't really changed much.
-- Do you know where you are?
Mom: Yeah.
Me: Where?
Mom: Kim's house?
-- I tell her the pills are good for her. "You're fucking lying. You're fucking lying."
-- If y'all don't turn these machines off, I'm gonna bonk y'all over the freaking head.
Me: What machines?
Mom (motioning): Over the head.
-- Where's our mom?
Me: Whose mom?
Mom: Ours.
Me: We don't have the same mom.
Mom: Where is she?
Me: You're my mom.
Mom: I know. Where's our mom?
Me: Whose mom?
Mom: Yours, mine and his (looking at dad.)
Me: We all have the same mom?
Mom: Yes. Where is she?
-- I need to make a phone call.
Me (giving her her phone): Ok.
Mom (putting phone upside down to her ear without dialing): Hello? Hello?
Me: Mom, who you wanna call?
Mom: (looking at phone): How do you work this shit?
-- How can she be itching? She's a two-dollar bill.
-- I'll send you to school with a dirty diaper.
-- I won't have a job before all this is over.
Me: What about after this is over? Will you have a job then?
Mom: Probably.
-- I'm gonna kill him.
Me: But I'm about to leave.
Mom: I don't give a shit where you go. ... Come here.
She then tries to choke me with her feet.
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