Business as usual

Yesterday was one of those days I've grown to expect... and dread. It started out normally enough, but after yoga class, I was supposed to take my parents for a routine checkup at UCIMC, about an hour away, given my mother's trips to the bathroom and the necessity of strip-searching her for the multiple layers of clothing she has taken to wearing for weeks at a time if I am not vigilant--yesterday she had on three layers. The caregiver is unable to coax these off of her; she hides them and guards them practically with her life, and I am the only one able to ignore her hizzy fits and take them off of her.
Not too long into the examination, the doctor began palpating my mother's abdomen, site of her lymphoma tumor, which we believe to be inactive, according to the most recent tests, about 4 months ago. My mother obviously winced, though she denied having any outright pain. After repeating this simple test a few times, the doctor decided that we had to go to the emergency room. Even though her oncologist is at another hospital, the doctor decided for some reason to send us to the hospital where we were at the moment rather than the one where her records were kept. This might have been because of the upcoming vacation I have planned for this weekend; she wanted things done as soon as possible so that I would be able to change travel plans if necessary.
It happened, as these things often do, that this was the busiest day the emergency room at this hospital ever had. There were sick people parked in wheelchairs all over the halls, in every storage room and hallway. There were no rooms to be had at all, for hours and hours. And there we sat, top of the list to be treated. My mom was due to have a CT scan, but the scanners were full of trauma patients, victims of several terrible car accidents we heard about during our time in the waiting room, or I should say waiting rooms.
My mother has dementia, as you know. Therefore, she repeatedly insisted that she be permitted to leave, that there was nothing wrong with her, and even if there was, it was her business, not anyone else's. She embroidered this straightforward statement repeatedly with paranoid fantasies, such as the idea that everyone was leaving the state (for Las Vegas, in the latest version), and only we were going to be left here in this awful place (she hates it in California, partly because people of all different ethnicities abound, and are even her caretakers; being from South Africa of the apartheid period, she is a born racist). After about 5 hours of this, I had taken as much as I could, or more, of this stuff. Especially since I had nothing solid at all to eat yesterday up to that time, and being the only person of totally sound mind in the family, and the only one whose ears worked well enough to hear my mother's name called, I could not be spared to get food and bring it back to the waiting room. Plus, there was the promise that we were next, and the call could come at any moment.
At that point, blood sugar low and sick to death of the paranoid drivel, I am afraid that I lost it. I yelled at my mother to be quiet. I told her that if I took her home now, the doctor could have me removed as my parents' caretakers and have me replaced with a state-appointed conservateur, who might steal all my parents' money (such as it is) and place them in a county home.
Finally, the call came. We had arrived at the waiting room at the ER at about 1:20. It was already 5:30 PM or later when she was finally taken back into the ER for treatment (and we waited another 2 hours for that).
I went to the ATM, since I had no cash, only to learn it demanded an ATM card I didn't have. The cafeteria did not take checks, debit cards, or credit cards--only cash. I asked everyone where another ATM could be found, at this point, half out of my mind with exasperation and hunger. If I had the patience to go across the street to a business or hotel, I could have found one easily, but I didn't, so I started to cry. I had reached the last layer of my resistance and besides, was about to lose my vacation and be stuck until next year unable to escape this situation.
Wandering hopelessly on the hospital grounds, I passed the nurse from the Senior Health Center who had wheeled my mother to the ER. She asked what was wrong, and offered to take money out of the ATM in exchange for a check, an offer I gratefully accepted.
When I got to the cafeteria, there was no food left. However, a short-order cook was present to make hamburgers and grilled foods and there were a few things left in the salad bar, so I got food for my father and myself; my mother was not permitted to eat because of the upcoming scan of her abdomen.
After eating, we both felt quite a bit better, but my father was extremely tired, and insisting that he be taken home to go to take his medication and go to bed. Although the prospect of driving home and back to see if mom was to be sent home was daunting, and my son was working and my husband out of town, I didn't see any other option, so I set off, only to receive a call from the nurse after about 10 minutes that my mother had a urinary tract infection, and was being released, a call my father regarded as a miracle, an answer to his prayer.
I still had to fill mom's prescription; it was 9:45 by the time I got them home, getting the caretaker out of bed to undress, wash, and put them to bed.
Today I tackle a list of "honeydos" my father made for me that will demand a visit to at least 5 stores. Then, of course, I must deliver them. But I am grateful for the reprieve. I am sure we have not heard the last from that tumor, but this time, it seems, I am free to go on my vacation... !