Don't Leave Me

After several days of intense pain relieved by Vicodin, I am doing much better today. Also, have had several changes of caregivers here at home, which has taken time from thinking about blogging and emailing.

I still have my scary experiences at one of the two convalescent care homes to which I was sent to write about. Which reminds me—when I retired as a librarian, I volunteered to deliver meals to shut-ins in Berkeley three times a week. Many lived in the poorest parts of town, and my dearest memories are of them. I got 4 of my dogs as a result of promising to take them when their owners either went into rest homes or died.

I went often to visit one dear little lady (whose chihuahua I adopted) who moved into a low level rest home, and I remember how much she looked forward to moving there, and how much she regretted it after she moved. I also remember the lost souls sitting in the halls in wheel chairs, who reached for my hand and begged me to get them out. (I have written before about the punishment of dragging on forever like that with no conrol over how and when one’s life should end.)

My story, on the other hand, is quite different. Hope to get to it tomorrow.