Every time Lucy promises Charlie Brown she won’t move the football, she does, sending him somersaulting onto his back. That’s what this week has been–a succession of shit storms–large and small–that have knocked my mom repeatedly off her feet. Today, after a walk (during which we laughed a lot) and then a shower (during which we laughed even more), I was blow drying my mom’s hair when she started to shake uncontrollably. Her entire tiny body was a convulsion of movement and she couldn’t take a breath. And then she threw up. And not one doctor here knows why.
Watching someone you love suffer must be the tenth circle of hell, out doing lust, gluttony, greed and the other six by a long shot. Tonight, I would make a deal with the devil if I could take on some of her suffering because I can’t stand it one more second. It’s like Lucy has gone from cartoon character to demon and is going at Charlie with a knife
I am too sad, scared and stressed to put any more sentences together. I hear little mewling sounds, like those a wounded animal would make, and then realize they are coming from me. My mom is sleeping now–drugged up on Demerol, which has stopped the shakes for now. But I cannot even imagine what tomorrow will bring.