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It's been a long day at hospital. I've been doing them for a while, so in one way I'm used to them, and since the past few weeks I've been taking Friday off so Ruthie can head off to Mother Mary's, overall time is slightly lower. Ten hours days, though...

Could be worse. Today proved frustrating, though, because of one thing I was doing. I'd just get into a groove on one project and Da Bipper would go off. Not Moi Bipper, which I keep on vibration because I hate bipper bipps, but de TTP Bipper which is playing Bacharach... and I would head off to take care of TTP. BTW, doesn't matter what TTP is, really. Just... an annoyance.

On another hand, though, after reading an entry by a Friend of a Friend (Friends who are unaware of my propensity to read, and wander, Be Warned: I tend to wander through your Friends Lists to read) a couple days back, the words that ran through my head for Bacharach (which, after I realized is what Da TTP Bipper did when it Bipped)...

"Anvils keep falling on my head
and just like the one time that I fell out of my bed..."  (Thx, micheinnz and dornbeast, and You, Oh Kind Reader may read the full thing here if you feel so inclined.)

Then, I'd finish up the moment of TTP'ing, and start back into the groove, and Da Bipper would Vibrate. Oh, yes, that's Life Offering Me Another Opportunity to Provide Helpful Support. Which, on one Brownian Motion occasion, resulted in this: 


That, too, need mean nothing to anyone else but those here at hospital. If you are truly curious, I will leave you to your imaginings.

At any rate, Ruthie returned to me safely yesterday evening, and we caught up with each other's weekends. Mother Mary is indeed approaching Her Next Great Adventure. She is now holding conversations with People We Can't See.

Now, I am tired. I go home.


( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
Mar. 8th, 2005 10:13 pm (UTC)

I think, on the whole, it was easier to deal with ihgreenman's grandmother's conversations with people we couldn't see than with my mother's cold lucidity whenever she was conscious. At least IHG's grandmother had a belief structure that included the idea that there were people literally waiting for her, and she really was looking forward to it as her Next Great Adventure. My mother, though--she just expected to end.

There are probably no good ways to die, but considering it an opportunity to visit with other departed and and beloved people is probably one of the gentler ways to do it.

How are you all holding up? This can't be easy.
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )

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