Yesterday and today were tough. My head has been fairly vibrating.
Is it the weather? More scar tissue? Stress?
I have no clue.
I do know that Alleve, Motrin, and even a Hydrocodone in desperation do not touch it.
I stayed home all morning, made some blueberry muffins, and just puttered around trying to take my mind off it. Then I managed to get to the studio where I tried out some new black 8/2 that I just got in the mail from the Georgia Yarn Company Check out the web site, if you like what you see, and you order, tell Michael that I sent you.
I personally think my headache could be some kind of occipital neuralgia, caused by the trauma of the surgery.
No, I have not called my doctor yet.
1. He will say to give it some more time.
2. He will order an MRI, and he might as well tell me to go sit in a car bomb in Beirut.
3. I don't know that I want to hear any bad news right now, about anything.
I am straddling a fence, and it is very, very uncomfortable, about as uncomfortable as you might imagine a fence would be in delicate places.
A few hospital admissions ago, my mother expressed her concern that she needed 24/7 care, after she almost fell three times, and I caught her all three, she said that she thought it was time to go to the "Stanton". That's the nursing home where she went after her hip replacement seven years ago. It is within walking distance of my house.
So we applied. And jumped through all the hoops that they make you jump through. And we got on the waiting list.
And she changed her mind.
For days she barely spoke to me.
Then she cried.
Then she inferred that I was a lousy daughter, not so much in words, but what mother can't tell her daughter VOLUMES without saying one thing.
She is speaking to me again, but we avoid that subject.
She is waiting for IT to happen.
I am just trying to get through one day at a time.
I don't want to be a nurse anymore, especially in my own home.
I want to be able to spend quality time with her, while someone else does the nursing care and keeps track of her bowel movements and her medications, and her mental status.
I just want her to be my mother.
I don't want to be hers.
Ah, the emotional turmoil.
No wonder my head aches.
They are just what I love, balancing out what I don't.
It's just life.
Between the headache and the fence, a rock and a hard place, there is still joy.