As regular readers of this blog know, about the time I really recovered from liver surgery, my mother went into the hospital for major surgery of her own. (There has been and continues to be a fair amount of other stuff going on at the same time.) She has been recovering at my house, with the attentions of my aunts (her sisters) at the moment. They are going home Thursday, and we do not yet have even a tentative date for her to return to her own house, due to several open issues.
So fairly shortly I will revert to being primary caregiver on an open-ended basis. My sister will be carrying as much of the load as I (and she carried far more than I while our mother was in the hospital), but the logistical stuff like overnight meds falls here, except when I am out traveling.
Even with my aunts en suite, this is taking up a lot of my time, attention and emotional resources. How could it not? This is my mother we’re talking about. All this while cramming calendula_witch’s birthday and many other things into my schedule. In turn, that means I have gotten virtually no writing done. I’m almost a month behind on launching my efforts on Kalimpura. As a practical matter, today is pretty much shot for writing time, but I hope to re-enter novel space tomorrow for the process of first drafting.
I am frustrated by life at the moment. I pride myself on being able to write through just about anything. For the most part, this is true. Though I’ve never tested this assertion, I’m pretty sure I could write in a bar fight. Apparently what I cannot do is write through 11.5 months of ongoing healthcare crisis and stress.
I want my mother healthy. I want me healthy. I want everyone else around me to stay healthy, damn it. Then I want to write books and stories.