Too Tired to Think of a Title (Mom's rehab - part 6)

What a nutty few days.  Sometimes I feel like I'm in a cartoon.

Our youngest was in town for a visit on Wednesday.  We stocked up on Mom's favorite tissues (Puffs white, non-lotion.)  Yep, ten boxes... 

We also updated some things on our blogs.  

Our son writes for The Bleacher Report and would love to make a living writing about baseball, instead of making money for Gucci.  Gucci's good to him, but, shockingly, it's not his dream.  

We then went to visit Mom.  Her bronchitis is abating, her lungs are clearing, and her voice is slowly returning.   

She needs clearance for surgery from her neurologist and a clean chest X-ray next Wednesday.  Once those two events occur, we can schedule surgery.  I'm thinking a tentative date might be April 19.   

Mom introduced our son to her roommate, Pat, who is the grandmother of American Idol star Adam Lambert.      

She's a sweet woman with back issues and a fat photo album of Adam, which my son then looked through.  They chatted a bit.  

How often do you meet the grandmother of anyone famous? 

(Mom and Pat have talked off and on all week about Adam.   Mom learned a few things: he sang opera at one point, has a six-year old sister, and called Pat on her birthday, just last week.) 

Yesterday, while visiting Mom, I asked Pat if I could take her picture for a friend who loves her grandson, Adam Lambert. 

"He's not my grandson," she said.

I blinked at her.  "Adam Lambert is not your grandson?"

Smiling, she shook her head.  "No.  I wish he was.  He's so talented.  I adore him.  I'm just a fan."

I looked at Mom, who was gawking at Pat. 

We questioned Pat, as though she must be confused about her who grandchildren are. 
 
I thought you said...he doesn't have a little sister?...you don't know him?...but you said...he hasn't called you?...and so on.  

This is the cartoon part.  Of the three of us, who's the loony-toon?  

Apparently, over the course of Mom's discourse with Pat, facts got jumbled, like the telephone game you play as a kid.  

Words passing from one senior citizen to another amidst the noise and interruptions of a rehab center...and relatives of celebrities are suddenly around.  

Mom and Adam Lambert's non-grandma

Who knows what the truth is.  

I'm going to check the patient in the next room to see if he's Johnny Depp's uncle.  

Early this morning, Southland Suites called me to say that Dad's left side was feeling heavy and numb.  They had called 911.

In the ER, Dad seemed himself, but pale and tired.  

The doc's initial exam was positive: Dad's left side was weaker, but not debilitating.  His CT scan was OK.  They decided to admit him to rule out any new stroke activity, possibility a TIA.

Dad rested through the morning in his darkened room while I took a few pictures of his "ET" finger.

"Phone Home." 

I phoned my siblings to update them.

The sweet thing is...Mom and Dad are in facilities just a block apart.  He can see her building from his room window.  

After five hours with Dad, I crossed the street to see Mom to give her the news.  We both think it might be stress that is causing his left side to act up.  It has done this in the past.   

I told Mom that Dad just wanted to be closer to her.  If they don't put that "he's out of bed" beeper on him, he might escape in a backless gown and scoot over to see her. 

When I got my jammies on tonight, I noticed the name tags on my shirt...

I'm going to have some wine.