It is supposed to be our final day in the hospital. I am thin on sleep. Everything has ground to a halt. That's what illness does. It demandstransitipming. that everything around it stop and pay attention.
I've begun to recognize that I have a hard time transitioning. From being awake to asleep, from the air to the show from the shower to the air are all unpleasant but from asleep to awake is by far the most challenging. If I drink then many of those are solved: I don't have to fall asleep, it is unlikely that I will actually gain alert awareness the following day.
Sleep in a hospital is bizzare as I never really reach stage four. I feel the lack of REM in a definite decrease of creativity as well as a faultering verbal filter.
I don't know about all of this. This care giving, yet I am in many ways the only person who is qualified to advocate and care for my mom. I understand her diet, how she thinks. I can communicate with her.
Drinking thin white coffee I lean my back against the window and listen to the pages go out over the intercom. I know it's time for me to pack the miso, keiffer, and dhal back into a box, but I am waking slowly and it's thanksgiving and I am transitioning awake for three more minutes.
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