One long weekend

I usually have a couple of weeks to prepare for trips. Trying to throw stuff together on a moment's notice is not easy for those of us on the autism spectrum. I know God has a sense of humor, but when I was making hotel reservations, "Mother and Child Reunion" was on the piped-in music.

I had expected the trip to be much rougher physically due to our usually taking the truck, but hubby said we were taking the car, and that helped tremendously. He and our 15 year-old shared the driving, the latter driving us to the state line, then doing a Chinese fire drill at the welcome center. My Aspie son and I enjoyed our solitudes in the back seats.

One of my sisters phoned my BlackBerry just as we stopped at Bob Evans in Charleston, W.VA. for a late lunch. Mom was taking everything in stride. "I'm 90," she said. (Actually, she's 89). Hospice was being arranged. MRI reports said that the tumor was two and a half centimeters, and in the center of the brain, and apparently had been there for some time. Her dr said she was the poster child for geriatric health. Other than the tumor, she could live to be 120.

I still felt as if I'd been slammed against a wall. But, just as with the sudden death of our Canaan Dog, Michael, by autoimmune hemolytic anemia, I never whimpered against the Will of God. Same here. If He is wanting to take her, that's His business. I pray for the grace for all of us to be resigned to what He wants.

We arrived in Louisville in what could be considered record time, but the traffic wasn't that heavy. We soon learned, however, that our hotel was not going to work. To put it as tactfully as possible, we had ended up in Louisville's Little Castro. We couldn't hardly go to the bathroom in our room because the perfume the men were using was somehow wafting into our quarters. I made sure the boys stayed in the room, and did as little errand running as possible.

I called one of my sisters, and she said that our eldest was having a time with mom. For some reason, Haldol had been administered, and mom was getting loopy because of it. Actually, loopy doesn't quite cut it--she was hallucinating. On that note, I put the BlackBerry to charge, said a prayer for all involved, and corralled everybody to bed. My Aspie son had to take Lunesta at 9pm, so everyone else was going to hit the hay, too.

I didn't know if my own restlessness was due to the drive and circumstances--Little Castro literally surrounded us on the fifth and other floors--or if the intuition had gone into overdrive. I had managed to fall asleep, when BOOM, BOOM, BOOM outside jolted me awake. "Oh, my God," I thought. "Here I've made it to Louisville to see my dying mother and I'm going to die in the wake of someone's meltdown." Shotgun, I thought. We were seriously undergunned. The time was 10:30pm on the dot.

BOOM BOOM BOOM.

We all jumped up and went to the window. Guests at the hotel across the street were doing the same. BOOM BOOM.

"Sounds like it's coming from the parking garage across the street," I said.

BOOM-BOOM

"Double tap," said hubby, a Gulf War I veteran.

"Tonight, there will be a fire alarm," I heard in my heart as I got up to call the front desk. "You know you've got shotgun blasts out there?" I asked.

"It's fireworks from the stadium. They have it every Friday night," said the desk clerk.

"Why didn't you put that on your website?" No good response to that, so I hung up.

"Fireworks?! In a hospital district?!" hubby mused.

We all managed to get back into bed, and asleep.

EEEP EEEP EEEEEEP

What the. . .? I opened my eyes. 11:30pm. EEEP EEEP EEEEEP.

Stinkin' car alarm! Why doesn't someone take care of it?

EEEP EEEP EEEEEP

I looked up at our own fire alarm, but the light wasn't flashing. "Remember what I said about a fire alarm?" I heard in my heart.

Three of us spontaneously got up and went to the window. Guests were gathering in front of the hotel across the street. Sirens were finally sounding. I could see the flashing fire alarm lights in some of the rooms. A Baker Aerialscope ladder truck pulled up in front. (I took a pic, but I'm still trying to figure out how to get it from the BlackBerry to here). "That's the only good thing I'm getting out of this," hubby complained. "At least I get to see a Baker Aerialscope." That wasn't the only 'mouthing' he did while we were there.

False alarm finally over, we all went back to bed. I was praying those who were frequenting the gay bar around the corner would be civilized when they returned. Apparently they were, as there were no further disturbances. I had three good hours of sleep. After continental breakfast, we checked out. Hubby determined that we would stay in the Comfort Inn out by my BIL's funeral home, despite its being about 10 miles from the hospital.

When I was in practical nursing school in 1981-82, I lived in the Spalding University dorm on 4th street. The downtown sounds were disruptive until a certain point, then they were simply background noise. What a difference 20+ years makes.

Anywho, back to finding my mom's hospital room. I knew that Jewish and Norton Hospitals were across the street from each other, but I had no idea that the four city blocks had been made into the "Louisville Medical Center" which had taken Kosair Children's Hospital and Frazier Rehab under its wing also. This place is so big, it's got its own steam plant. Parking is free on the weekend, and after this engineering family marveled at the cooling tower, we set about trying to find mom.

Mom was still a little loopy when we got there. She thought we were more medical personnel. She thought my 15 year-old was someone else. And we all had double heads. The tumor wasn't pressing on the optic nerve, but it was putting pressure on the nerve track. Second heads were either on top of our own, or on our shoulders.

We had a little bit of time before the doctors made their rounds, and the nursing assistant ran us off so mom could get a bath. I made sure I tracked down mom's nurse, and asked her to get mom anointed. Mom's Baptist, but she received Catholic anointing before surgery years ago, so I requested it for her. Come to find out, Protestants receive anointing, too. But we're still going to get one of the "family" priests to give her the Anointing of the Sick. My catechist, and a racecar driver-priest are both family friends. Surely someone can get the job done.

Two of my sisters showed up. The third was still asleep, but would come in later. We sent the guys on a sight-seeing trip of the locality. Hubby was determined to find a bigger, better hotel room, so they took care of that.

Mom was cognizant of all of us. She talked with the doctors, and was resigned to her situation. The nurse came in and said the chaplain would be in around noon to do the anointing. After the sister closest to me in age came in, we borrowed chairs from the dr's dictation alcove. Always such a rarity to have all four of us in the same room. Mom gasped, and hugged herself when we drew her attention to the fact.

I took photos of them, but no one photographed me. There's a good reason for this. When I was growing up, the only time anyone took my pic was after I had been provoked to reaction. When one of my sisters asked me to write about growing up with autism, I mentioned that little fact. All three got the message. Nobody photographed me. I was quite content. (I was really PO'd at the media during Gulf War I as one TV photog proved intrusive while hubby and I were sharing a parting moment).

Lunch arrived just after the black lady chaplain did. Mom said she'd rather have food for the soul than the body at that time. The chaplain said she usually didn't come in on the weekend, but God had put it in her heart to get there. "You're in God's heart," she said to mom. She also read three passages of scripture, the first being that the psalmist had never seen the righteous forsaken, nor their seed begging their bread. Two more passages--one from Psalms, another from Isaiah--both mentioned grey hair, and how God would care for the family. After a reading from Max Lucado, I saw the lady chaplain take something from her bag--the consecrated oil--and she made the Sign of the Cross on mom's forehead with it. As the chaplain prayed over Mom, I extended my right hand, which is what we do in church.

My sisters and I left mom to her lunch after the chaplain's departure. We went downstairs to the cafe to get a snack. I had determined via BlackBerry that Mass for my family would be at 4:15pm at St. Louis Bertrand's, the Dominican church downtown where I had become a Tertiary. We'd all have supper at the Kingfish across the river in Jeffersonville, Indiana.

As my family drove to the church that afternoon, I was rather dismayed to see the urban decay that had set in. When I was in college, the neighborhoods were thriving. But I thought of how an urban-based diocesan hermit could make something of a difference in these decaying neighborhoods--even if just to give someone a smile. Or encourage someone to go to rehab. Sometimes that's all it takes to make a difference.

"Louie B's" hadn't changed that much. The interior had just been renovated and was spectacular. I thought of how the friars had been based in the Springfield, KY, area at St. Rose when they first arrived in KY before the Civil War. From there, the Dominican influence in Kentucky had grown. I was rather dismayed to see no reference to the Third Order, though, and wondered if a split one of them had reported to me years ago had been the chapter's demise. I wore my Veritas shield pin on my t-shirt, and pondered the memory of how we Tertiaries used to sit in the first 10 rows on the right side at the front. Mom used to pick me up from college in Berea and would take me to the meetings once a month. I reminded God of her solicitude toward my spiritual life.

The new pastor had the Mass. During his homily, he said he had been reading the history of the parish, and how they had come from St. Rose to establish this parish. Okay, so my intuition was wide open today. That and five bucks will get a coffee at Starbucks.

After Mass, we drove around Old Louisville. What lovely old homes in various stages of repair and disrepair. Although some may have been Sears Pre-cut homes, most were red brick with elaborate limestone trimmings. We found 2nd street, and made our way to the Kingfish after crossing the 2nd Street Bridge.

Everyone converging on Kingfish put 'straggle' into the word 'Straggler.' After about an hour, all nine of us were finally seated. My nephew had driven up that afternoon, and joined us. Just as the server presented my eldest BIL with his cole slaw, he knocked over his water. 'Cole slaw' became the joke of the hour. "Here is a man truly enthusiastic about cole slaw," said my second oldest BIL, a retired journalist. We dissolved into giggles. (Why he doesn't do narration for the Comedy Channel or something similar is beyond me. He has the voice for it). "Job security," said the server as she wiped the ice off the table into a dishpan.

We found our way back to the new hotel after dinner. I was moved by the Spirit to procure drinks and snacks for everyone for in the morning. Since I seriously needed 1000 mg of Tylenol for a headache, I went ahead and ate my snack. I fell asleep watching--thank God--the British Comedies on KET2.

We missed continental breakfast--they closed an hour earlier than at the first hotel. I distributed the snacks which the Spirit had so wonderfully guided me to. Hubby let me off at the hospital, and I found mom leaning over on the over-bed table. "I'm listening to the TV," she said. "Meet the Press" was on. We recounted our enthusiasm for Louisville sportscaster Bob Domine, and the fun we had running his fan club in the 1970s. She also recounted some of her childhood growing up without TV. She never knew to be prejudiced because of the black train foreman who lived in their neighborhood, and playing with his kids.

My second-oldest sister walked in. Then the doctors came in on rounds. Mom's geriatric hospitalist came in and talked about her regular physician visiting her at home (yes, he makes housecalls, and even has breakfast with the pt sometimes). The hour was over, and I had to leave. She was slightly upset because I was headed back to NC. She thought I was going to be at her apt that afternoon. As my sister put me in the car, she said, "Make her cry and hold her" to hubby.

To round out the weekend, we received a call on my son's cellphone from a neighbor saying cop cars were in front of our house, and a cop was in our back yard. The cops had also blocked off our street. Allegedly, someone's ex-something-or-other had busted in a lady neighbor's door, and had tried to stab her. When we got home, nothing was going on. We learned the truth the next day--car break-ins. Since our truck was untouched, they investigated our property.

So, now mom's back at her apt sending out emails and entertaining hospice; my BIL with esophageal cancer is in Duke at the moment; and I'm trying to set up medical tests for my Aspie son to see why he has such bad ADHD without his meds. Pray for us.

Blessings,
Gemma