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Steroid Dreams and Visiting Elders

KidThree's been on a significant amount of prednisone the last five days (since her allergy attack last Friday night).  The pharmacist told me it could cause wild dreams and has it ever.  KidThree woke me last night around two to ask me to come sleep in her room to keep the bad dreams away.  KidThree's bad dreams are full of guns and shooting and blood and death;  having me in the room helps her relax.  So, another night on her bedroom floor.  Thank goodness she finished the prednisone yesterday.  Seeing her reaction to that made me understand a little better the 'roid rage that can hit people taking steroids.  Something to take seriously, for sure.

Today the pharmacist will have an epi-pen kit (complete with training 'pen') ready for us.  There will be two epi-pens, one for KidThree to carry in her wheelchair pouch and one for me to carry.  Plus the trainer pen, so I can show her how to use it.  (After twelve years as a military medic, I could give shots in the dark.  To moving targets.  In camouflage.  Who Don't Want Shots.)  It will be a relief to have the epi-pens in case of emergency.

KidThree had a bit of a scare yesterday evening.  I was out babysitting when a pizza delivery person knocked on the door.  KidThree hadn't ordered pizza, and was not in her chair and so not mobile.  She hollered to the pizza guy that she hadn't ordered pizza, but a couple of minutes later, the pizza guy knocked again (and she yelled again that she hadn't ordered pizza).  Of course what was frightening was the possibility that this was someone who was looking for her, using pizza delivery as a ruse.  She was seriously frightened, because of course she's pretty darned helpless when at home alone.  When I got home, I stopped at the neighbors and got their home phone number so KidThree could call if something made made her nervous.  The wife is the apartment manager and so could get in with her key if KidThree had an emergency, and she or her husband could come out to check to see whoever might be knocking at our door.

We have to move.  Somehow, someway, we have to move.  

KidOne is maintaining well.  I got her an appointment with the psychiatrist who had been consulted by the emergency room doctor; she will continue on new meds until that doctor evaluates her in person.  I'm going to try to go to that appointment, as I am a bit better at giving long-term medical history than KidOne is.  She always answers questions completely, but she doesn't always remember to give related information if a question doesn't specifically address an issue.  Thank goodness we're finally addressing her mental health issues; they've been needing attention for quite some time.

My mother is back in Missouri now, visiting my ex-pat sister and her two children.  Mom goes back twice a year to visit.  (Another sister used to live in Missouri, too, but she returned to California in 2007.  Not quite to NorCal, but at least SoCal is sort of California.  I know, if you haven't lived in California, you probably think SoCal is the real part of the state but that's just because of Hollywood.  We in the North are more fun, just less tanned.)  Mom being gone means finding some reason to drop in on Dad, to make sure the kitchen isn't too terribly horrible and that the garbage gets taken out.  This Saturday is a Senior Center day, but maybe KidTree and I can go down on Sunday.  KidThree loves to play in the kitchen, as does Dad, and I could read a book in another room.

When I was a kid, some friends down the street had their grandparents stay part of every winter.  The grandparents were from South Dakota but had had enough of the cold and snow.  They spent part of every winter with our neighbors (their daughter and her family), and the rest of the winter in SoCal with their son and his family.  These out-of-state (and thus extremely exotic) grandparents were community property.  We all watched Lawrence Welk with them, and soap operas with her; he walked to the store to buy us candy and because we loved him, we ate it, even though he always bought coconut and we didn't like coconut. We played Scrabble and cribbage with them.  Once we were old enough to actually think, they didn't cut us any slack, so of course we never won--a successful game would be just getting sort of close.  If we went down there to play with one of our friends and that friend wasn't home, we could always stay and play with one or the other of the grandparents.

When my girls are older and I am older still, I plan to be that sort of a grandparent.  I'll make my rotation, this kid and then that kid and then whatever kid hadn't been visited yet.  I don't take up much room, can cook and am housebroken, so I hope they won't mind the visits.

That South Dakota grandmother moved to my hometown after her husband passed away (this years after I had left home).  She attended the church I grew up in and when she was in her nineties, won a trip to Hawaii in the church raffle.  She went, taking her granddaughter (the one I had been buddies with) as her traveling companion.  I'd like to get old like that.

A

 

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