Thursday, February 26, 2009

Fist in the Back

I was home from a long day of work and medical appointments before I understood what was wrong with me. It wasn’t just that Nicholas of Starbucks left the cream out of my coffee, insisting even after I asked that he had indeed put it in. (It was a drive-thru and the color I could see through the slot in the top of the cup looked suspiciously dark. Black, in fact.)

“Are you sure there’s cream in here?” I asked one more time. Oh, yes, of course. Oh well.

No, I finally started feeling the fist in my back last night. I had seen my psychiatrist earlier, a boring man who prescribes my anti-depressant. But even the boring man almost pushed me out of his office after a few minutes of conversation. My time was up.

“How have you been?” he asked after I sat down.

“I’m still walking,” I responded. I explained why just putting one step in front of the other was a small accomplishment for me. Several things had happened since I’d last seen him in the fall. Still, after I told him about the worst weeks of my life, and after he’d nodded a few times, it was time for me to leave. Fist in the back.

On to the nursing home. At my aunt’s careplan conference an hour later, a nurse I’d never met and who has never met my aunt, also gave me a little push. Yes, they really had left my aunt in the same clothes four days in a row. True, we had talked about this previously. Really? Really, we haven’t been brushing her teeth? Wow, hard to believe.

But now, now we have others waiting. Waiting for their turn around the table. Where plans are made and not carried out. Where words mean nothing and caring is cheap. Fist in the back. Time to move on.


  1. OMG you poor dear...I hate all of this Ann! But I think you are incredibly brave and I am still soooo impressed with your caregiving. You are amazing, lady! :-)

  2. YOU ARE BACK!! Oh my goodness, I'm so happy. I've missed you so. One day I came here and poof, you were gone. And no forwarding address. And back I came later, still gone, and this dawning morning here you are. Stay, please stay.

    Sorry that things are going grimly with your beloved. It's a hard hard time. Things are strained with my parents, too. A hard time of life - an in between that is relentless.

    Leisel is right, you are brave!

    (I finally joined Facebook. Find me under Cherie Blankenbaker Klusman and I'll 'friend' you if you are still there.)

  3. (And Leisel, I have sorely missed you, too. Where are you? Are you okay?)

  4. Well, hello, Ann! I took a chance and looked for you today and here you are! Well, here you were a few months ago anyway... When you were completely gone, well, insert major sad face here. I hope things are better for you now. Maybe we can both find our way back to blogging in 2010, but even if we don't, I like just knowing you're out here.
    Pam (