Mom, Meows, & Manna (of a sort)

My Mom is finally in the rehab center! She went in last night and, although I wasn’t present, I understand from my sister that her arrival was as much of a production as the rest of this tragicomedy. The room she was assigned was dirty and still contained the clothing and personal property of the previous resident. My sister agitated the staff until Mom was moved into an appropriate and clean room.

I, of course, knew that Mom’s move was in process, but no one informed me that it had taken place. Last night when I telephoned her hospital room, the phone was answered by a fuming woman who informed me that the room (and phone) was now hers and Mrs. T. was no longer in possession of either. (I don’t think I was the only person to telephone and ask for my mom).

I then telephoned the nursing home/rehab center. I was told that it “after visiting hours” and, since Mom had not yet (I suppose) been entered into the facility’s computer, the woman at the switchboard could not confirm that Mom was a resident. With many years of experience as an army intelligence officer (please don’t tell me that “army intelligence” is an oxymoron, I already know that), social worker, and pastor, I went to the next level and telephoned my sister. For some reason, her cell phone wasn’t working.

Thus, I decided assume Mom was at the nursing home/rehab center and to postpone the quest until this morning. Alex and I wrapped up in a blanket and watched the Florida Gators devastate the Ohio State Buckeyes by a score of 41 to 14 in the BCS championship game. (I know Alex was asleep before the first quarter of the game ended and I dozed off sometime during the 3^rd quarter).

This morning I telephoned the facility and confirmed that Mom was there. I was given the direct line phone number to her room; however, each time I telephoned, I was met with a busy signal.

Unable to reach Mom, I went to a clergy Bible study for the first time in months. I have missed attending that study for months; however, with gasoline prices and my limited resources, I have simply not been able to attend. Of course, the depression that is in my genes and the latter excuse (no money) have made my forays beyond my house very few since the end of my insurance agent career. I went this morning primarily to meet with the new moderator of the Kentuckiana Association. I “retired” from the position at 12:01 a.m. on January 1^st.

Just as the Bible study was ending and before my meeting with my successor moderator, my sister telephoned me on my cell phone. She, too, had tried to reach Mom at the rehab center and encountered the same busy signal. Since I was planning on going to the center after my discussion, I agreed to let my sis know how Mom was.

After arriving at the rehab center and navigating, with the help of three different staff members, the labyrinth to Mom’s room, the busy telephone signal was solved. The phone in Mom’s room is the kind that has no cradle; it has a button to turn it on and off. I had evidently been on more about sixteen hours and no one had noticed. It is now functioning: Mom has telephoned my three times since I left the facility.

So, Mom is in the rehab center. She has had at least two session of physical therapy (and was trilled with neither). I have talked with the physical therapist and the head nurse of the section. Now it is up to Mom—and God’s grace.

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I had intended to address three subjects in the blog post. I have written about one and am not inclined to pare it down. Thus, I shall address my two other subjects—Meows (Alex and mine) & Manna (of a sort)—tomorrow. As a bit of a teaser, I leave you with the following photo that relates to the latter subject: