I made it back to the poor wee cottage having been away for 8 days. The 3 hour drive East over the mountains took about 2 minutes. But as I was unlocking the front door, it seemed like it had been weeks since I was last here.
Being a patient advocate has strange effects on time. Hours double, to say the very least. I can’t imagine how it must feel for my Mum, but her doctor said that for every day you are in a hospital, add 7 days for your recovery once discharged. That makes it 49 days. Whoosh.
I left yesterday after the my Brother/Chef Paul arrived. He’ll stay until Monday and then it’s back to just being Brother Fred with the assistance of a daily visit from the home care nurse.
Paul was bit overwhelmed when he first got to the house. A post hospital environment can be pretty daunting, especially when it’s your parent and her heart. So I stuck around until he had a solid check-in with Mum. It was hard to leave, but he told me to go.
Paul’s last text was early evening which read: Mum’s sitting in the living room enjoying my homemade chicken soup. This made me smile. I’ll bet the house felt like one big hug.
He closed with: From here on out, no news is good news. And with that, I could smell his cooking from here.
That note was my Irish Twin giving me permission to tone down my heightened sense of empathy and awareness, so I could breathe in and out a little softer and think about something else, anything else.
It was a lovely gesture from my sibling. So I took it.
I opened a bottle of Pinot Grigio. I rang darling Marty in Cornwall. I marvelled at the large maroon and yellow winter pansies on the front porch. I looked at the clear night sky. And not too much later, I put my head on my pillows, closed my eyes and dreamt of space.
At 7am I woke with my phone in my left hand and no new messages. My morning coffee never tasted so good.
Paul did check in this morning, but just to ask a few questions about Mum’s new heart medications. All is well there. The beginning of a good day I was told.
I really should be working on my web designs this weekend. The deadline is looming and I need something to show before I fly to England on Thursday, which is still on unless something changes with my Mum. I did some prep stuff last week but just could get my creative side going alongside the hospital thing. So I am behind and know it, and I have this weekend to catch up.
Yeah, that is what I should be doing.
Not a betting person by nature, I’d say the odds of me even removing my laptop from my backpack hover somewhere around 42-1.
Nope, instead, I’m going to continue my Brother’s cue.
For the next couple of hours I will tool around this old place in my oversized I Stand With Pluto shirt, with my hair up, wearing black leggings and fluffy tan boots.
Complimenting my haute couture will be Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini in the background as I purposely burn a few slices of market applewood bacon, perhaps accompanied by a second cuppa of my favourite San Fran Bay French Roasted bean.
Following that will be a near nuclear shower, the kind that fogs up bathroom mirrors. After which I shall linger a skosh too long in a towel. Then in between a towel and clothes, I will stand in nature’s own under a mist of a citrus and meadow scent. Finally, I will slowly (and I do mean slowly) put myself together before venturing out to hear tales of what I missed whilst I was away from the crew at my local.
Now … doesn’t that sound like a plan?
Paul’s chicken soup hug sure has quite the reach.