I feel like I'm on hold. I refuse to make dinner plans or start a stew in my Crock-Pot because I figure the second I do, I'll be called out of town, and the only groceries I'm buying are chocolate and cheese. I've almost completely given up on my diet for the time being, though somehow I've managed to avoid potatoes (must be that article I read in Newsweek).
Right now the thing that scares me the most if what if she pulls through? Her quality of life was bad enough; now it'll be almost nil. I don't want her to keep suffering. I don't want my mom to have to keep going through this. And selfishly, I don't want to have to prepare myself for this again.
It tears me up inside to think of what she's going through. She's conscious, though of course none of us know how much she's aware of. She can't use her arms and she's struggling to breathe. I made the mistake of doing a little research (20 points from Ravenclaw) and now I know why she has pneumonia (because she can't remember to swallow her own saliva) and a UTI (because she's incontinent).
I feel guilty for wallowing when I know there are so many people who have it so much worse. I deal with it by talking about it, asking too many questions (that's how I deal with shit, talking about it until everyone wants me to shut the fuck up), which is hard on my mom because she doesn't really want to talk about it ad nauseum (I mean, she has to give the whole family the rundown every day).
I want it to be over.
I didn't think I'd take it this hard when it finally happened.