My mom went back into the hospital yesterday. She hadn't been feeling great, so she made an appointment with her family doctor, to get some meds adjusted. I dropped her off at her appointment, and headed across town to my therapy appointment. When I walked out of therapy, there were five missed calls from my mom's doctor's office. Her doctor wanted her to go to the ER to get the swelling checked in her legs, so I went directly from therapy to the ER.

The room was located close to the other area of the hospital that I had been in with my brother earlier this year. The white walls made me almost instantly nauseous. But I went into my bag of tricks, put on my strong face, and kept my mom company while she waited for results from various blood tests.

When you have a new organ in your body, nothing is easy anymore. The ER doctor didn't feel comfortable not involving the transplant team, since my mom's recovery was so long and so rocky. So they admitted her and transferred her to main campus, all the way in Cleveland. She didn't want to go to Cleveland again; she's now used to waking up every day in her own bed. She's used to hanging out with her granddaughter every day. There were a lot of tears, and a lot of reminding her to advocate for herself and not take any shit from anybody.

As of earlier today, they had ruled out her kidneys being the problem. Before her transplant, her kidneys were starting to fail, and it's apparently pretty normal for liver transplant patients to eventually need a new kidney. But it's not her kidneys, and that's at least one piece of good news. She called to let me know that she's been getting out of bed to walk around and to use the bathroom. I keep the conversation light and hella motivating, because um it's Bad Bitch Summer not only for me, but for every Bad Bitch around me. And that includes the bad bitch who brought me into this world.

The thing with having a sick parent is that you spend a lot of time waiting. You sit and wait in uncomfortable chairs or couches in waiting rooms. You wait for a call from your parent from the hospital. If they can't talk, you wait for a nurse or doctor to call and give you an update. It's a lot of waiting. And a lot of jumping when certain phone numbers pop up on your phone. 216-444 numbers generally give me a lot of anxiety until I pick up the phone.

And I hate going to main campus. Don't get me wrong, they have an incredible art collection (I can now say I've slept by a Kusama pumpkin, because I did the night of my mom's transplant). But I hate everything about being up there. I hate the drive. I hate having to pay $10 each time for parking. I hate the overly helpful customer service robots they have working there. I hate how the white walls make me feel after a while.

We're hoping it's nothing that can't be fixed with adjusting her medicine. Until we hear anything, though, it's just a lot of waiting and jumping when the phone rings. I'm already very tired and need a good, solid evening of distraction. Or a good, full day of exploring and photographing, but the weather keeps working against me there.


Popular posts from this blog

The Chairman is Dead, Long Live The Chairman.


The Great American Road Trip