Our local wing emporiums had been pushing folks to order their Super Bowl wings days in advance, not necessarily due to the perceived shortage of wings but mostly to avoid the last minute Game Day pick-up rush and delay. there were horror stories about folks waiting 45 minutes for their Game Day wings . . . and the GAME starts in 10 minutes!!!
The wing shortage rumor has been refuted. Still, there will be lines. I think. I won't be getting wings from any of the emporiums. But, back to the point at hand, breathing. granted. taken for.
My phone rang very early on the morning of January 23rd. An actual call (versus a text message) that wasn't from my mother. But, it was about Mom. She had called a friend to take her to the ER and the friend called me.
SOB Shortness of breath.
The ER visit turned into a week of poking and prodding, testing and scoping, and a general upset of routine. Very tiring and quite overwhelming for her, as she repeated. Often. And for me it was an exhaustive yet educational exercise.
And then she was discharged to her home. Home with the newest normal, oxygen. And further limitation on mobility and independence. The first night was the hardest (so far). After having spent most of the evening with her while she acclimated to the oxygen canister, waiting for the delivery for the concentrated oxygen and related training, I was called out in the middle of that night by the medic alert company: mother having problems with her oxygen, am I able to go.
The trouble was mostly anxiety.
And now, in addition to anxiety and fear there is dependence and guilt. There is confusion and helplessness. There is exhaustion and desire.
There is . . . breathing.