Long Hollow

I might see some trick-or-treaters this evening. I'm excited about that.

When you live a mile down a dirt road in a Hollow of few houses and no small children, Halloween is like any other night. Quiet. No one ever comes to your door. Even when my kids were actively hustling for candy, I had to drive them from house to house, or at least to another neighborhood where they could walk door-to-door.

But I'm still here at Mama and Daddy's, in my old neighborhood of side-by-side wood-shingled houses connected by sidewalks perfect for the travels of little goblins and princesses. I plan to sit near the front door with my camera handy. And, of course, a bowl of candy.

I was supposed to be heading home this morning, but, as often happens in life, things didn't work out the way we thought they would. Home healthcare wasn't in place when Daddy was discharged and I can't leave until it is.

My sister has that wheel turning now, working with the doctor's office and an agency, and fingers-crossed it'll be in place Friday so I can get home in time to work this weekend.

But flexibility is my word right now. 

Transitions are tough, and I sympathize with  Daddy's frustration over his new medicines and changes in his morning routine: Take blood pressure. If it's above this, take this pill. If it's above that, take another. Also take two others that have long multi-syllable names that sound alike and even I can't pronounce. Wait an hour. Eat. Take another handful of pills with similar names.

One day, God willing I live thirty more years, it will be me frustrated over my rebellious body and doctors and prescriptions.

I'm going through my own transition right now, missing my morning routine of a walk with the puppies. I miss working on my book, editing and posting photos to sell. I miss sweating and pushing my body through those work-outs I had come to dread.

Daddy feels great…and not-so-great. His medicine has side-effects, apparently. He has no restrictions except driving and lifting, so he's trying to do everything else he did before…wheeling Mama from room to room, getting her nebulizer medicine ready, feeding the cats, sweeping.

Except for carrying the full laundry basket and lifting the wheelchair and anything else over 10 pounds, I let him, while I focus on phone calls: the plumber, making follow-up appointments, getting his prescriptions filled, talking to pharmacists and nurses about them, and writing up a schedule to make it easier for him to keep track of it all. Today I'm going to try to organize a cabinet or counter to keep it all handy and organized.

One scary moment yesterday: The pharmacy wrote the complete opposite instructions on one of his blood pressure medicines than what I had been told by the nurse. I called the pharmacy and they said "Oops!" What if I hadn't spotted it? 'Oops' is an understatement.

No, I won't go there. I know I can't stay here indefinitely.

I can only do what I can do today, and I don't want to miss the precious moments of the here and now, which include spending time with my parents and handing out Halloween candy… and remembering a time, not so long ago, when it was my own little Power Rangers (and goblins and pirates and cowboys and snow leopards and wizards and ninjas and skeletons and devils and bunnies…) who knocked on that very door, calling "Trick or Treat" to their delighted grandparents. 

 Happy Halloween!!

Those of you on the east coast affected by Sandy are in my prayers!