In our case, the problem seems to lie in the patient not wanting to be cared for. Mr. Bob didn't want to be curtailed from pumping gas when his oxygen level fell to 79%. (Later a therapist said that at that reading, 911 should be called.) My insistence on postponing the task made him absolutely apoplectic and words were uttered that would best have been left unsaid, hurtful enough to halt my blogging abilities for days on end. Yet another time he became furious when I called for a backup tank of oxygen the day before he was scheduled for his seven hour chemotherapy treatment. There was another melt-down earlier this week when I tried to practice taking care. He has dismissed me as his advocate. Instead of feeling relief, it feels like rejection.
So yesterday, I decided to give myself some respite care and I went to town, town being our old stomping grounds of Montrose.
Getting an early start to meet a dental hygienist's appointment at 8:20, I managed to stay away and give Mr. Bob nearly 10 Jane-free hours and indeed he seemed quite chipper when I reappeared.
|That many paned window to the right used to be my second floor office when the bookshop was on the corner.|
|Yesterday morning I ate breakfast here.|
|Maureen and her daughter were having breakfast at the Black Cow so we had a chat about the folly of running a bookshop. Once Upon a Time will be 45 years old in October.....the oldest children's bookstore in the nation.|
|Later, no interest was shown in what my ten hours held.|
Not that there's anything wrong in that.
Note to self: Get used to it.