CANCER?

IT'S A ROLLER COASTER

In the past week, my mom has acted even more like her old self. She tells me to straighten up the room. She curses at me. She watches soap operas. 

And in the past two days, she has walked. Not very fast and not very far. But still. 

I wonder more and more: Is she still sick?  She has no pain. She barely uses the breathing machine. 

I showed her outside. She tells me about all the people who live across the street. 

And another thing that makes it seem like she is suddenly healed is that she has no recollection of her hospital stay or the week before when she hit rock bottom or the week after the hospital. 

But she remembers everything before that and everything since then. It's like those weeks never happened. 

In those blank weeks, she couldn't move her feet. Now she's walking. In those blank weeks, she refused or didn't want to eat. Now she makes requests. Before, she couldn't tell what she was looking at two feet in front of her. Now she recognizes characters on TV. 

What the heck?

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

It's back! 

My mom was anxious to leave her hospital bed. I told her it was too late for that. Maybe tomorrow. "Well Mr. Gene. You can go fuck yourself or do whatever the fuck you want to. Because I am going to the bathroom."

Mom thinks I messed with her computer during her blank time. "Who fucked up my shit?"

She did get a little confused the other day and thought a friend of mine took her computer. So maybe she's not completely back. "That little shit took it. And if that motherfucker comes back here, I'm gonna take my 38 special and fucking shoot him."

SHE SAYS SHE'S BORED

FORTNIGHT OF THROW UP AND NORMALCY

It's been two weeks since I've written an update about my mom's condition and non-sensical ranting. 

The first of those weeks seemed to end the illusions. In fact, Mom hardly talked at all. She kind of just stared holes through me. 

She refused to take her medicine. She claimed I didn't love her. She wouldn't answer questions. And she could not stop vomitting. 

We had this bucket she would just fill up and fill up full of vomit. She drank coke and water and barfed it all up. Not food really. 

That's because she didn't eat for eight straight days. EIGHT. Finally, this past Saturday, she woke up, looked around and said: "Chinese on Carrollton."

That meant egg rolls from Chinese Kitchen, one of her all-time favorite meals. So off I went to Chinese Kitchen, where little Chinese ladies serve Chinese food to the surrounding black community and the occasional whitey, like me. 

They don't give you your change until the food is ready, which is just so strange to me. You should go there and stand around for an hour. Just a fascinating world. 

Mom ate off the Chinese food twice Saturday and then Sunday and Monday. I also got her barbecue pork and shrimp fried rice. 

And for the past few days mom has mostly been normal -- complaining about the neighbors, wishing she was in her own bed and requesting Italian food. Except for the fact she can't walk, it's hard to tell anything is actually wrong with her. 

It doesn't seem like she's getting worse. 

CRAZY SHIT TINA SAYS

Before the vomitting stage, mom had these beauties. 

Mom: How long have you been here?

Me: Been where?

Mom: In prison. 

Mom: When are the police coming to get me?

Me: Police? What you do?

Mom: What did I do? Ha. 

Mom: You're not going to believe this, but the first thing I noticed when I walked into the police station was the blanket. 

After the vomiting period ended -- it just stopped, can't explain it -- mom had these things to say. 

Mom (after Chinese): No dessert?

Me: We have king cake. 

Mom: That's bullshit. Fucking overrated donut. 

Mom: That whole week where I went to do the volleyball thing was like what the fuck. She's walking around like she knew what the fuck she was doing. She knew when to go to the bathroom, when not to go to the bathroom. The whole works. 

Mom tells me to look for her suitcase in the bathroom. I tell her I can't find it. 

Mom: Call my phone number. Jesus. Do something. 

NICOLE CHEATED ON ME

Before you overreact, let's start by saying that this is according to my mom. 

Mom claims that the other day when I was at work, Nicole brought a dude over to mom's house. And didn't care that mom caught her. 

"I come home. David goes in the door first. And then I come in. There they are. And they're like, 'Hehehehehehe.' They're laughing at me. And Nicole is like, 'Hi, sweetie. You're looking better.' "

By the way, mom's Nicole impression is hilarious. She also told me not to tell Nicole that she told me about Nicole's infidelity. Of course, I did anyway. 

I also had to reassure mom that we were still together. She thought it was over. 

SHE DID EAT SOME KING CAKE

ESCAPE FROM THE HOSPITAL BED

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. 

THE END OF HOSPICE VACATION

FINDING THE HUMOR 5

After waking up at 10 a.m. Tuesday, my mom only stayed up for two hours. She arose again at 6 p.m., but basically only long enough to say hi to Joe and Jenna and then was awake again for a little while toward 11 p.m. 

She slept the rest of the day and didn't even notice that Bert was in the room for several hours. I'm about to head back to work today, and mom is going back home, ending an interesting five days at this hospice facility.  

Goodbye my home from Friday night until Wednesday morning. 

Mom had a total of 22 visitors during the five days, counting my dad and me. So 20 people that didn't have to come, and that really touched my heart and helped me not be sad. Thanks, guys. 

People came from as far away as down the street -- Kelly and Nicole -- to as close by as Barcelona -- Gillie and Brian. Wait, switch that, reverse it. 

When mom came to at 5 a.m. Wednesday morning, it was the latest in a long line of adventures we've had the past couple weeks. 

She refused to stay down and insisted on being let out the bed because it was time to go. I continued to tell her no and blocked her path of exit. 

Or so I thought. 

I dozed off around 5:30 and when I opened my eyes a few minutes later, mom was out of the bed and slowly walking!

Somehow she had escaped from the other side of the bed that is propped up against the wall and has two rails to boot. The bed was slightly angled away from the wall after two nurses got on each side to reposition her Tuesday night. 

Still, there wasn't much room to squeeze out of there between the two rails and also between the bed and the wall, especially for someone who hasn't walked in a week and who has trouble breathing. But dammit if her spirit -- and hard-headedness-- aren't still very much a ticking. 

I jumped out my chair and rushed over to hold her, as she could collapse at any moment. She ended up making a lap around the bed before a nurse helped her lay back down. We then pushed the bed all the way against the wall. 

Here's what she said over the next two hours after we got her down: 

-- I'm mad at you.

Me: Why?

Mom: Because you made me get out of bed. And you wouldn't tell me what was wrong with me. 

-- We both gonna die?

Me: I don't plan on it. 

Mom: So just me?

-- (looking at me) Why are you trying to drive me crazy? Why are you doing this to me, Tina?

-- The little girl got sick, then her brother, and now he's sick. 

-- I got to get up and put on purple shoes. 

Me: Why? Where you going?

Mom: Why are you trying to make me put on purple shoes and die?

SHE TOLD ME TO TURN OFF WRESTLING

FINDING THE HUMOR 4

My mom slept from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. yesterday. Not a bad gig if you can get it, right? And then she slept from 11 p.m. to 10 a.m. Tuesday. 

I learned from a nurse that tumors had entered mom's brain, and that's the reason she speaks non-sensically now. 

Here are yesterday's highlights:

-- Gene, you're so full of shit. Unbelievable. So full of shit. (Pause). So full of shit.

-- I want my cake now. 

Me: You have cake? Where?

Mom: Down the street. 

-- Mom told some story I wasn't completely paying attention to. I came in at the end. 

Mom: So you gonna text him?

Me: Who?

Mom: Muhammad Ali. 

-- I think the food comes out a shoot. 

-- Let's play happy games today. Gene happy games. Gene happy games. 

-- There was lots of baby talk. 

Where's the baby?

Me: What baby?

Mom: My baby. 

She then asked if the mother -- no longer mom's baby apparently -- was keeping the baby and if the father was OK with it. She was really worried about the baby and wanted to leave to go get it. 

Mom: So the baby's ok?

Me: Yup. 

Mom: Well that's good. Wish someone would have told me a lot fucking sooner. Give me a bag of candy. 

HER LONG-TERM MEMORY IS STILL GOOD

FINDING THE HUMOR 3

My mom persisted from 5 a.m. to 7 a.m. Monday morning to please help her get up. And since that's been her entire life's mission the past four days, I helped her up. 

She can't walk anymore, so I had to hold her up. But she did enjoy sitting on the edge of the bed and stretching her legs across a chair instead of the bed. 

The sad part came when she asked me to go into the other room to retrieve some clothes. 

Me: Mom, we're not at home. 

Mom: Where are we?

Me: A hospice room. 

Mom: Whose sick that we're here for?

Me: You. 

Mom: Why? What's wrong?

That was tough to answer. It was like she was hearing it for the first time. 

Later the nurse asked where she was. Off and on the last few days, she kind of thought she was still at home but now she knew she wasn't. 

Her response: Folsom. 

Nurse: What year are we in?

Mom: 1974. 

Other highlights from the past 24 hours:

-- She looks at Paul. "Is that a pass to get into Playboy. In Playboy 2, they said I'll guess we will go to the tit pool. She said I didn't know we had a tit pool. It looked pretty fun. Wish I knew how much it was to join."

-- Mom was all kinds of fidgety last night. I'm trying to calm her down as she continually puts her feet over the bed railing. 

Mom: I'm gonna kick you right in the stomach.

Me: Relax. 

Mom: (Making a fist): I'm gonna relax you right in the face. 

-- Did you know there's an alligator party tomorrow?

Me: No. You going?

Mom: Yeah. They have lots of parties. 

-- How come I can have candy, but I couldn't have it yesterday?

Me: You did. I gave you some. 

Mom: But why couldn't I have some yesterday?

Me: You did yesterday. I gave you some. 

Mom: I know. But why couldn't I have candy yesterday?

-- She's picking at the catheter tubing. 

Me: Can you stop doing that?

Mom: I'm getting my bottles. I don't want to lose my bottles. 

-- I ask mom if she remembers the visitors she had Sunday. 

Me: Do you remember Kelly coming?

Mom: Yes. 

Me: Paul?

Mom: Yes. 

Me: Dad?

Mom: Yes. We all went bowling. Then y'all made up some bullshit and probably went fishing. Y'all made up some bullshit. 

I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM

FINDING THE HUMOR 2

After cutting through some insurance bullshit, an ambulance arrived Friday afternoon to transport my mom to River Regions hospice care. 

She was asleep when the EMTs tried to move her off the bed. Her eyes popped open and got as big as I've ever seen them. 

"What the fuck!?!?!"

After some more miscommunications Friday night and Saturday morning, mom's medications were finally figured out and she got a little comfortable. I slept fine in her room Friday night, though Saturday night was a different story. 

She has said the title of this post at least 100 hundred times over the past few days, no matter how vehemently I explain that she has a catheter and a diaper. 

Here's some of the stuff she's said in her hospice room the past few days. Once again, a big thanks to all that stopped by. 

-- Did you set the ice machine to when you want the baby born?

-- They don't serve ice in Panama City. I was like I need more ice. And she was like you have so much. And I was like I need more. Six, seven, eight cubes. 

-- (looking at the TV) Change the station. I want the last letter to be Z.  

-- Am I sitting on dad? Is he in the corner?

-- Nicole made a bunch of candy for Christmas for her family, co-workers, etc. She gave a box to mom, who loved a particular kind. 

Me: You like the pink candy?

Mom: Yeah. It was so good. Can't wait to wear it out. 

-- How do you expect me to get out of here?

Me: Out of where?

Mom: The horse. I don't want to let the team down. 

-- Me: Who visited you yesterday?

Mom: He took out the shotgun and killed the cop. 

Me: Who?

Mom: The guy she was with. 

Me: Whose she?

Mom: I dunno. 

Me: When was this?

Mom: Yesterday at my house. 

-- Was Melissa on the team last year?

-- Can I wear your shirt when I go home?

-- You should start walking around. 

Me: I think I wanna go to sleep. 

Mom: You get yourself sick when you do that. 

-- Her old sheets are sitting in bags on the air conditioner. 

Mom: What are those?

Me: Sheets. 

Mom: But what's in the bag?

Me: Sheets. 

Mom: I got that. But what's in the sheets?

She also insisted on being handed the old sheets. She opened the bag and rummaged through them. 

Me: What are you looking for?

Mom: The plug.