A week ago I was still sucking on cigarettes. Then on Tuesday, it looked as if Mom was going to come home from the hospital after 15 days stuck in that building. Doctors and respiratory therapists said things to my mother like, “If you go home and start smoking again, you’re going to wind up right back here.”

I shook my head because I knew Mom wouldn’t quit smoking, even if she’d gone two weeks without a cigarette (albeit not by choice). Then, the craziest thing happened: Mom decided to stay quit. Which meant *I* had to quit, too, or else she’d never stay quit.

So Tuesday morning I had my last couple of smokes, brushed my teeth, showered, and put on a patch. She didn’t come home Tuesday; she came home Wednesday.

But it’s now Day 7 of The Quitting and I haven’t shot anybody. Yet. Tomorrow makes a full week for me, today makes THREE weeks for Mom.

Instead of sucking on cigarettes now, I’m sucking on straws. This is something I came up with the last time I attempted to Quit. I take a regular drinking straw and cut it down to roughly the length of a cigarette and I use that as a substitute. If I squint (and am drunk), it’s almost like the real thing.

Straws, patches, and chewing gum are thus far saving my ass. That, and knowing I’m not the only one quitting. Friends ZenBitch and Shannon quit over the weekend, too, which rocks. Despite Shannon’s shitty weekend – losing a friend – she stopped smoking yesterday, so kudos to her. And to ZenBitch, too.

Claiming that she picked a hell of a weekend to quit smoking, I can tell Shannon that there’s never a “good” time to quit. Something stressful is always happening…at least as far as I’m concerned. I’m still stressed with Mom now that she’s home. Hell, she’s still on antibiotics, she’s using oxygen and breathing treatments, might have a little pneumonia, and still has a PICC line.

Believe me, I’d love to still be smoking…part of me would love it, anyway. But I can’t.

The last few days, I’ve (re)watched the “Back to the Future” trilogy. I never get tired of those movies. Thing is, I’ve seen the future – as a smoker. It includes hospitals, being tied to IVs, oxygen, nebulizers, having a hard time getting a breath, no endurance, lung cancer…things I really, really don’t want.

It’s been a fucked up year, 2010. Next month I’ll be 44 years old. I skipped the Summer of Love this year, as well as my Birthday Dares…just not feeling it. I have no grand plans for my birthday, even though it falls on a Saturday, but the one thing I can say about turning 44 is that I’ll be a non-smoker.

That’s the best gift I could hope to get myself.

Though I’d gladly take a (non-smoking) girlfriend. Or an iPhone 4. Or a Kindle. Or this Star Wars shower curtain. Just about anything from Think Geek. Or a Blu-Ray player with the soon-to-be released Blu-Ray “Back to the Future” trilogy.

See? I’m not (incredibly) picky.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Day 16 of Mom’s hospital stay. She was said to be going home today. And since (drum roll, please) she agreed to quit smoking, I cleaned out her room last night. No more ashtrays or smokes, they’ve all been thrown away. And I Febreezed the shit out of everything. That’s 50 years of being a smoker for her, by the way.

It has been verified by Candy, non-smoking friend: you can’t smell the smoke. Mom’s room was the only smoking room in the house, so I sprayed Febreeze again this morning, just to be sure.

This morning I had my last smoke before tossing all MY smokes and the last ashtray. Now I’m wearing a patch. So far so good; course, it’s only been a few hours.

Doctor this morning said he wants Mom to get another CT scan before discharge, so she may not go home today, after all. They want to be sure there’s no more free roaming fluids in her chest or abdomen.

Which means I could have quit smoking tomorrow.

Dammit!

Oh well, no going back now. It’s August 24, my name is Karl, and I’m a recovering smokeaholic. This time I hope it sticks. For good.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

So Karin and the fam just left a while ago to go back home. Once again, I’m left here frustrated, at a loss. Mom is simply not doing what needs to be done, and that’s making me nuts.

She isn’t up and walking around like she should be. In fact, she’s in bed 95% of the time. She isn’t using her breathing tools (the incentive spirometer (sp?) and the acapella thingie) as often as she should be. She’s not sitting upright in bed, nor getting into the chair to sit a while. Bed, bed, bed. “I’m wiped,” “I’m tired,” “I wish I was home.”

Yeah, well, maybe if you were doing all the things being ordered, you’d be home by now.

It’s unlike her to do a half-assed job at anything, yet there she stays…in bed, watching TV or napping. All the while short of breath, getting breathing treatments every four hours, and REFUSING TREATMENT. Yeah, the nurse told Karin and I that Mom refused a respiratory treatment this morning, telling the RT, “I can refuse any goddamn treatment I want.”

Wonderful. Because after two weeks of being in the hospital, I’m looking forward to daily stays (visits) for ANOTHER two weeks. Not so much.

I don’t know what else to do. I tell her, “Let’s take a walk” and she says, “Not right now.” I shove the incentive spirometer at her and she might use it 5 or 6 times, whereas she’s supposed to be using it every hour. EVERY HOUR. I tell her she’s got to SIT UP, she keeps pushing that damn bed button that lowers her down to nearly flat.

What the fuck?

I’m tired of playing the parent to a woman who knows better, a nurse for fuck’s sake. I know damn well that if it were me in that bed, she’d be all over my ass to do what’s required of me. It’s bullshit.

I can’t keep this up forever. I don’t have it in me, I really don’t. I’m not that strong. Going there every day is sucking the life out of me.

So yeah…just a tad frustrated.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Day 12 of Mom in hospital. White count still too high and they don’t know why. Tomorrow they’re going to do a bronchoscopy to “wash” out her lung and see if there’s an infection.

Karin is on her way here with the fam. Staying till Sunday.

Me. I’m ok. Frazzled, but going day to day. I’ve been in this hospital every day for 12 days now and I’m way over it, even with a daily afternoon dose of Mythbusters on TV.

I have yet to really broach the smoking topic with Mom. Karin wants to clean Mom’s room this weekend. I’m probably gonna have to play go between. While she feels we should ditch all the smokes, I’m not gonna allow it unless Mom says it’s okay. Ugh on several levels.

I wish Mom would quit. I’d even quit if it meant her not smoking any more. Hell, at this point it’s stupid if she starts again when she springs this joint. 12 days without, and it’s likely at least another 4 days till she is outta here.

Right. Just now talked about it with Mom. She said no about cleaning her room. As for the smoking, it’s food for thought, she says. I told her that I can’t handle this hospital shit, and I don’t want her future to be loaded with hospital stays. Worse yet, to go out like her husband did? That’d kill me to go through.

I dunno. Food for thought. Maybe the Guilt card is the way to go. Keep laying it out there and hope she quits.

Shit. Now *I* need a smoke.

Written on my phone.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

It’s day 8 now with Mom in the hospital and me making it a second home. A week ago yesterday that we almost lost her. Hoping this is her week to go home, but that depends on her white blood cell count coming down.

They say nurses are the worst patients and I understand why. They have a lot of insight into what’s going on, ask lots more questions than “normal” people, and think they know what’s best, often refusing to do what is ordered.

With Mom, it’s little things that make a big difference. For instance, her bed position. She keeps wanting it flat when she should be on at least a 30-degree elevation. Her lungs have fluid in them, so being flat only makes it harder to breathe. Does she listen? No. She just keeps readjusting her bed.

Me, I’m stuck between being a pain in the ass and doing what’s best for Mom. Be easier if she was in a coma, I think.

Then there’s the big smoking issue. Do I do as my sister suggests, clean the house of all ashtrays and throw away all the cigarettes? Febreeze the living shit out of everything? Because Mom keeps saying how much she wants a smoke, and I’m thinking that’s just what she needs. Not. It’s been 8 days since she had a smoke. Her body is detoxed, as they say. At this point the desire is all mental.

And am I ready to quit myself? Anxious and stressed as I am, I don’t think so. But I can’t really expect Mom to quit if I don’t. Ugh. I know if someone threw away my cigs against my will I’d be pissed. But should I care? Tossing away all the smokes would be a healthy thing. It’s the smoking that is causing some of the troubles she’s facing right now with her breathing and lungs.

When you consider everything, especially that her husband died of lung cancer 6 years ago, it seems retarded that she still smokes. Me, too. I helped take care of him those last months and it wasn’t pretty.

Fuck. I’m an asshole if I toss ‘em all, I’m an asshole if I don’t. In the meantime, there’s a reprieve because Mom isn’t going home today. Or tomorrow. She isn’t strong enough to even make it downstairs to smoke outside here.

But soon. She is walking slowly up and down the halls. Just a matter of time.

Everything and every decision seems a ginormous task right now. Checking the mail, getting the morning paper, calling people, picking up more baby powder from the store. It’s all draining. Add to that the fact that I’m supposed to eat three meals a day. Ugh.

Speaking of which, it’s lunchtime. Mom’s tray is here, the food growing cold while she sleeps. I should wake her and get her eating, then head down to the cafeteria to get myself something.

Mmm. Hospital food.

(written on my iPhone so pardon the errors)

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

It’s the strangest thing, being in the hospital, or having a loved one in the hospital. You’re trusting your life with people you don’t even know. The nurses, the doctors, the aides. Don’t know them from Adam, and yet every time I leave the hospital, I trust them with the life of my mother.

I don’t know what is scarier: trusting strangers with Mom, or having me be her caretaker. There’s a reason I didn’t go into the medical field like Mom or Karin: I can’t hack it. But I’m about to take care of Mom again, after weeks and months helping her after knee surgery. In what fucking universe does that make sense?

I watch Karin undo cables and cords, reattach blood pressure cuffs and IVs, and I think “I could never do that shit.” I do not do bodily fluids well. I don’t do the caretaking thing all that well. I always feel inadequate.

I don’t understand the medical jargon, which flies fast and furious. Karin does. Hemoglobin, white counts, red counts, plural effusion, potassium levels, xiphoid and hemostasis…blah blah blah.

I feel like a little kid left in charge of a city. Scared, frustrated, and way out of my depth. Just a matter of time till disaster strikes.

This getting older thing sucks, particularly when everyone I know gets older, too. I dread being in a hospital bed some day, all by myself, no one to depend on except strangers.

One thing at a time, though. Mom will be in the hospital at least another few days. Hoping she doesn’t catch pneumonia while she’s here. She gets up to go to the bathroom, sits in the chair for a while, we need to get her walking down the hall.

I just hope this isn’t the beginning of a long series of health problems. My parents all have health issues.

And I’m left feeling like that little kid. Quaking and clueless.

(written on my iPhone, so excuse the spelling and grammar)

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

I’ve been very absent from here of late. That’s because there are only so many ways I can say I’m depressed. And there are only so many ways I can say that there are only so many ways I can say I’m depressed. I’m sick of myself, so I can only imagine how sick you are of me whining.

Enter Monday. Mom had a colonoscopy, which seemed to go just fine. Till we got her home. Then she announced she was feeling really bad. Dizzy, nauseous, stomach aching. The stomach, she just figured was gas pains from all the air in her gut post colonoscopy. Turns out no.

Thank God she had to use the toilet, rather than just taking a nap. That might sound odd, since she passed out on the way from the bathroom and hit the floor (carpeted). But hear me out.

If she had just gone to sleep, I would not have known that she was bleeding internally. We would have lost her. Yeah, seriously.

Instead, I called 911 and the ambulance came and got her. Turns out that a 60/30 blood pressure isn’t a good thing.

Her stomach was increasing in pain at the ER. A CT revealed bleeding in her abdomen. She was in surgery within 30 minutes for an exploratory.

I knew it was very serious then, as rapidly as they took her to surgery, even without any medical knowledge on my part. I’ve seen plenty of House episodes. She’s a nurse, Mom, as is my sister, Karin.

Turns out that they had to remove Mom’s spleen, which must have been perforated during the colonoscopy.

Nobody said how bad it was until a nurse gave a surgery update. “If you hadn’t gotten her in here when you did, she wouldn’t have made it through the night.” Fuck.

Again, thank God she didn’t just take a nap when we got her home Monday. Gives me shivers just thinking about it.

Now Mom is in ICU, but only because there aren’t any other beds available at the hospital. Her numbers are looking far better after they gave her a couple units of blood the other day.

Likely, she will be in the hospital till sometime next week. Karin is here till today or tomorrow (she lives 3 hours away). Really is a blessing having her here. She knows what all this lingo means, what it means to have an 8.7 hemoglobin. I am clueless.

Thanks for all of your prayers via Twitter and Facebook, texts, and phone calls.

Now I type this on my iPhone and think about the road ahead. Again. Mom has had a crappy year thus far. First, breaking her kneecap, then this almost right after she finally got back to work.

Banner year indeed.

I’m left once again pondering the fragility of life. Seeing how close we all are to the Other Side is pretty scary. It’s easy to take it all for granted. Seeing the huge 13″ incision along Mom’s stomach and chest…we are all just a skinsack of guts and bones. Christ.

Then I go step outside for a smoke, which seems pretty fucking dumb. What can I say? I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed.

(from my iPhone in the hospital)

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

I wish I had something to write about. I don’t. I’ve been home for a couple of weeks and feel like I’ve got nothing to say.

I don’t feel like much of anything, truth be told.

Which is why I did this meme that’s been floating around forever and a day.

Album Cover Meme

1 – Go to “wikipedia.” Hit “random”
or click en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The first random wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.

2 – Go to “Random quotations”
or click http://www.randomquotes.org/
The last four or five words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album.

3 – Go to flickr and click on “explore the last seven days”
or click www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days
Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

4 – Use photoshop or similar to put it all together.

So here’s my new album from Totem:

Original photo found here.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan

Yeah, so I couldn’t make it past Day 11. I’m home.

Thanks for all the love and support (and mail). For those that sent something I didn’t get, I’m hoping they forward it on to me.

For now, I’m just not feeling much like doing anything, including Twitter and Facebook. I’m sure I’ll slip into the groove again at some point.

--- Thanks for reading! SecondHand Tryptophan