Yes. Well. So, the metformin works...
...with circumspection and reservation. It worked this morning. This afternoon, as we checked out of Target, to which she went with me, without oxygen, at her insistence, after a fairly lengthy trip through the grocery she grabbed a Hershey's with Almonds candy bar from the literal eye candy displayed as one steps up to the register. I okayed the purchase, telling her that she would eat cottage cheese and have a 12 oz. can of V-8 juice first. I also gave her another 425 mg metformin. We'll see what happens this evening.
    She just laid down for a nap. I put her on oxygen. She said "Good night." Freudian slip. I brought it to her attention, laughing. Then I told her that we'd probably be having dinner very late tonight.
    "I might sleep right through till morning."
    "If you do, that's fine. I imagine you'll get up, here and there. You might want popcorn, or something. I'll be up pretty late I think, just shaking it all out. I'll push water on you if I'm up when you get up."
    "I'm sure you will." Said with a loving edge.
    Today while we were driving from place to place I found myself making everything we passed, talked about, looked at, etc., an object lesson, the object being her improving health. In the middle of some inane propaganda piece about how going to Wal-Mart would be "better for her health" than Target, I suddenly realized what I was doing. "Don't you get sick of me constantly ragging on your health, Mom?" I laughed ironically and a little self-deprecatingly.
    "I'm sorry, I didn't understand..."
    I was practically yelling in her ear and, as MPS once pointed out not too long ago, I wasn't born with "an indoor voice" so I knew she'd gotten hung up on a word, probably "ragging". "Bitching at you, nagging you, making everything health related. Don't you hate that?"
    "It's not my favorite way to spend an afternoon." Always the diplomat.
    We were both silent.
    "Well," she finally said, "aren't you going to say something like, 'I won't do it again?'" She was just this loving side of sarcasm.
    I thought about it. "No, because I probably will do it again. I'll try not to do it again today."
    She didn't say anything.
    That's why I said nothing about the candy bar; just dosed her with metformin.
    For those of you who have known my mother's extreme, boulder-like lethargy for the past two and a half years, you would have been truly amazed to see her today. In Prescott. Without oxygen. I'm sorry you weren't here. We would have had a good time.

    Before she closed her eyes for her nap I asked her if she hurt anywhere.
    She focused on me, surprised. "No," she said. "Why, do I have a bruise?"
    "No, I just wondered if you were aching from exercise, if you might want an ibuprofen."
    She wrinkled her nose. "Nah, I don't take that stuff." She's nearly telling the truth. About once every six months or so I find a reason to push one on her, with great difficulty and many campaign promises.
    "Okay. I was just wondering."
    I think we may put off a trip to the Valley to partially close until Tuesday, or Thursday, which I was planning to be our second trip of this week and final closing trip. I think we'll take it slower. I mentioned to her in the car today that I thought we should spend some time at the Square tomorrow. Maybe bring a game and play. Do a little walking and wheeling. She thought that was a great idea. We'll take it a plan at a time.
- posted by gail rae @ 17:41   email...this post