Covid-19 Makes Momz scared to go to the Hospital

I’m hella scared, and I don’t know what I don’t know. Doc says I shoulg get momz to the ER. I agree. Momz is fighting me. Pandemic has her scared of catching COVID at the hospital. I don’t blame her.

Caregiver Stress. Heavy day today.

Just got off the phone with Momz cardiologist. I’m trying so hard, and I just don’t know how much more I can do. I’m halway to charcoal, I’m so burnt out.

My husband and I are fighting. He thinks I’m being taken advantage of, and being a doormat. I’m trying to keep mom alive.

Breathing through it. Doing my innercises and affirmations.

You know what helped the most? I don’t even believe it. I’m getting tingles now thinking of it. I remembered the expression, “Let go, and let God.”

Remembering that I can’t control everything helped me release a lot of the stress I was feeling. I think that kind of faith feels good.

I’m a spiritual person. I’ve studied too many religions to pick just one 🙂 However, I think that there is likely a quantifiable psychological benefit to prayer. Not the desperate vending-machine-in-the-sky kind of prayer, but rather a prayer that releases the desire to control everything.

Ohh! Chills again.

This post is a reshare of a facebook post from one of the hospital jets with my folks. I might be heading that way again soon. Without further ado, here’s that old FB post:

I hate hospitals. I am glad they exist, don’t get me wrong, and I’m glad the night nurse has a wicked sense of humour, but hospitals still suck like swamp sludge at shoes.

The pervasive hand sanitizer smell makes me want a shot of vodka, or perhaps a spicy ceasar. The garbage can by my chair smells incongruously like donut frosting. In this room the walls are a muddy shade that probably tries to be peachy, but just looks nicotine-tarred and tired, except where tape scars from absent posters reveal a lighter dinge beneath. I’ve read everything in the room: the surgical glove boxes, all four sizes (I never knew the fingertips were textured – makes sense.) I’ve read the when and how to wash your hands posters. Basically before and after touching anything, using more positions and motions than a pornstar. I’ve always liked the look of the sharps disposal box: the extreme contrast of the black and yellow, the graceful curves of the biohazard symbol with its ominous pointed tips.The floors are pocked with crescent moon scuff marks from too many arses (likely large and lazy like mine) dragging the visitor chairs around. My brain entertains me with a water stain on the ceiling by the curtain. I draw patterns from it: a face, a constellation, a flower. Someone should put some art on hospital ceilings. SERIOUSLY. I would, but it would wind up looking like a kindergarten Crayola crew went crazy…might still be an improvement. I need an 8 hour nap but the noise never ends, and this chair is not meant for napping.

Work is gonna blow tomorrow, today. Whenever.

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