Yesterday we got to check out the local ER for the first time since Mom and
Dad relocated. She had one of her "spells" -- woozy, lightheaded, turned
cold and clammy, sweating profusely. Dad acted as if nothing unusual, and I
called the EMS. (This woman is six-weeks post-pacemaker, and you don't mess
with anything that could be cardiac.)

I was afraid maybe I was overreacting, but all the medical personnel said I
did the right thing. It was a good thing I was there -- she could not give a
coherent medical  history, didn't remember her address or phone number
(though in fairness, she's only lived there two weeks) or social security
number. Once in the exam room at the ER, she remarked that there was an
awful lot of activity going on in the room next to us -- which was a hallway
leading to eight other rooms, so there was a lot of coming and going. (Our
ER is quite nice and modern with private rooms fronted with glass, not
curtain-cubicled gurneys.) She couldn't understand when I told her there was
a hallway there in an effort to reassure her, since she was getting quite
worried about the "patient" next door. She wanted to argue about it and I
changed the subject.

After three hours of testing, we were told the EKG did show some anomalies
with the pacemaker that her doctor needed to address, but the cause of her
"spell" was either too little digoxin or too much Synthroid. She is taking
the prescribed doses of each, so they adjusted for the weekend, and told her
to see her doctor first of week. Fortunately we already had an appt. for
tomorrow.

By the time of discharge, they were both tired so I took them home and then
fetched BBQ ribs my sweet hubby had made while we were at hospital for their
dinner. I went to put the ribs in the oven to heat up a bit while I prepared
rest of meal -- and found a casserole dish with the leftovers from a
previous meal. Dad tried to say it was the previous evening's, but he had
already told me at great length what he had fixed the night before -- and
that wasn't it.

At least waiting in the ER waiting room while they got Mom tranferred from
the ambulance gave me a prime opportunity to talk to Dad about some of the
changes we might have to make to help her. Of course, just as I was wading
into the more sensitive stuff -- like him reducing his drinking -- the
security guard came and told we could go back.

Mom is a little confused why I am going with her to the doctor tomorrow but
not objecting. I really expected a bit more of a fuss from Dad "I can do
that for her" but I think he is relieved not to have that responsibility,
which he is not handling well.

But they both came to my church this morning, talked up a blue streak with
everyone who would listen and were the last to leave the coffee hour. Mom
even admitted to a new friend she had been bored at the lake. I am fortunate
to have a church family who knew of their need to move here and who were
quick to meet them and make them feel comfortable.

Thanks for letting me vent -- and any suggestions on how I broach the
leftovers issue? I felt Dad had had enough for one day so I glossed over it.

Songbird