Archive for January 2007

One Renaissance Guy

January 10, 2007

So I’m brain-dead watching TV in my mother’s apartment (see below) clicking through endless, empty channels when I get caught short: There’s Anthony Weller touting his new book (First Into Nagasaki).  We only know Mr. Weller from his fantastic guitar playing (Guitar of the Americas is a wonderful album we never tire of listening to) — didn’t know he was a writer too.



January 10, 2007

I haven’t posted anything in 2007? Shame on me.

And, to use my 17-year-old niece’s favorite expression, ohmygod. I once wondered aloud if she’d be able to vocally express herself at all if ohmygod was surgically removed from her vocabulary. Visualize immense brown eyes rolling skyward, accompanied by a slack-mouthed head shake, and you pretty much get her response.

I’m back in NYC. Mom hit the Help, I’ve Fallen Button on Saturday night. She had a cough. Admittedly, a bad one. At least my brother got to share the 17-hour emergency room wait (funny, you don’t get short-listed for a cough in a NYC hospital on a Saturday night).  Extra, extra careful doctors decided to keep her for observation for the next 48 hours (after her heartrate soared after she was given an inhaler known for making one’s heartrate soar).  So it was my turn to hang out in the hospital for the next 2 days with her.

Can anyone tell me what the uniforms in a hospital mean? Some people wear purple, some wear white, some wear green, some wear flowery things. I ask the nearest human for some sort of help for my mother and I get met with, well, see 17-year-old niece’s reaction above. Tho I must say the nurse Jon, who worked (and I mean worked) 12-hour shifts, the waves of doctors (all from the geriatric specialty office where Mom’s a patient), and mostly everyone was very kind and pretty helpful. If anyone needs help with navigating the New York University-Presbyterian-Cornel-Weil-Whatever Its Name Really Is Hospital, let me know. Best tip: a fabulous new Indian take-out on East 68th called Tawaa or Tawara or something like that. Near the hospital.

Mom’s home now, resting quietly in her bedroom with the radio loud enough to entertain neighbors three floors away. We’re just waiting for the pharmacy, one of the most expensive on earth, to deliver medicine ordered a mere 24 hours ago.