Queasy

And to top it all off, I think I ate some bad Chinese takeout for lunch.

My morning started at 5 o'clock, when I heard my mom at my bedroom door. She was convinced that we were either trying to take her somewhere (the hospital, I think) or that we were locking her in her bedroom. (At 3 a.m. the night before, she was convinced that my dad had bronchitis and needed to sleep downstairs.) By 6 a.m. my dad and I had coaxed her back to bed. She finally fell asleep by 6:30, only to wake up at 7 again. I found her in her bathroom, standing there, in just a t-shirt.

She's been asleep for most of the afternoon, but at around 11:00, after everyone else had left the room, she looked me in the eye and said, "I need to tell you something." She was lucid. "This will be very hard for you," she said in Hindi. And then, in broken words, she talked about money--and the rest of the family. I tried to assure her that everything would be okay. She slipped back into her disoriented state soon after.

I wish I could laugh more at how bizarre it is that there is no immodium in this house. I have my moments, I suppose. My aunt and I crack jokes with each other that no one else here would get. We laughed a couple days ago about how, when this is all over, both of us will be bald (both of us have been losing hair--my shower at home is clogged up). I made fun of her this morning for weighing herself on my mom's scale and misreading the number--worrying about gaining weight. It's all sick humor, really. Inappropriate really. And, really, not unlike the jokes the homecare nurse was making--except that we know our audience. Still, we both laugh loudly and nervously. I'm sure she'll joke about my diarrhea once she gets here with my immodium. I hope she will.