This post has nothing to do with writing, except to say I've only written a scene or two this past week. If I sound down, it's because I'm tired and ill-prepared for the changes I'm seeing in Calvin.
I turn 70 next month. Wait. Let me figure that again. Seventy can't be right. Shoot, it is. Hold on while I grab a tissue. I feel a sniffle coming on. Calvin turns 87 in October. There are sixteen plus years between us.
He had another echo-cardiogram to see if the medicines the Cardiologist has him on have improved his heart function. No change, unfortunately. His heart is still working at 20% capacity. He's moving slower and using a walker.
Last Wednesday, we went out for lunch and stopped at Walmart on the way home. Calvin parked in one of the handicapped spaces while I hurried in for raspberries, blueberries, and melons. When I came out, he turned on the car. I could hear the engine rev harder and asked him to check the position of his foot. Was it partially on the accelerator? His hearing is bad so he couldn't hear the engine roar.
He told me I was wrong and shoved the gear into Reverse. We flew backward toward the front of the store. Thank God no one was behind us! I kept screaming, "Stop!" He yelled, "Why won't the brake work?" Well, his foot had slipped. We crashed into and flattened one of the four-foot high posts in front of the store.
Calvin got out of the car and fell. I heard a remark about a drunk driver. I crawled out to explain what had happened. An ambulance and the police were called. The EMT's checked him out and said he was fine. The policeman spoke with me and said he wasn't charging Calvin with anything. "Accidents like this happen," he said. "Your husband has a clean driving record."
Our Camry was towed away and we got home by way of taxi.
That's when I noticed my head and shoulder hurt. I'd been so worried over Calvin I didn't think to take inventory of my own body. But, I'm fine now--almost.
Two days later, Calvin had his regular three-month appointment with our primary care giver. He sees six different doctors. He told our regular doctor about the accident. I told him about Calvin's falling and my difficulty in getting him back on his feet; it's as if his legs won't work. And he gets confused. "What room am I in?" ... "How do I roll over. I don't know how."
Our doctor made arrangements for home health care three days a week, physical therapy, and a wheel chair. Calvin told him he hasn't been able to sleep since the accident, so he gave him six Ambien sleeping pills.
Calvin on Ambien: "My feet fell out of bed."
Me: Gets up and places his feet back in bed under the covers.
Cal: "How did that dog get in our room?"
Me: "Honey, we don't have a dog."
Cal: Raises up on elbow. "Get out of my house. Oh, hell, it's a bull. You grew up on a farm, You deal with him." Lays down and goes back to sleep. SUDDENLY! His hand slaps my forehead. "Duck! The birds are coming!"
Me: Mumbles to hubs to calm down.
Cal: "Dorothy, get me some yogurt."
Me: I refuse to answer to his ex-wife's name. I've been his wife for nearly 14 years.
Cal: "You've got the blankets on the bed wrong."
Me: "Tell Dorothy to change them."
Cal: Would you like to go back to Paris? I want to see Paris one more time before they put me in a box."
It was confusion and tossing and jerking on blankets all night long. I'm hiding his remaining 3 Ambians. I need some sleep. He can't dress himself anymore. He only half eats. And he wants me where he can see me. He wasn't like this before the sleeping pills.