Well- been back at the grind. Healing nicely and trying not to be too frustrated about not being able to run/work out like I want to. Yesterday (Thanksgiving) Doug The Amazing did EVERYTHING. I contributed the White Trash Ambrosia which no one but myself ate. I, of course, had 17lbs of it. Today, hanging with the kids and recovering. It was this time last year I was recovering from the mastectomy. A LOT has gone on in the year. I am grateful beyond words to have that year behind us and am so very optomistic and hopeful about the year ahead. We’re still poor but it’s looking a bit friendlier for next year. Here’s praying my boob settles okay and no more surgeries to “match” them. Frankly, if it lands around my knees I just might wrap it up in a bra and continue on- enough is enough.
Re; Turkey Day. We had it here and Doug’s parents, his cousin & her 11 year old som came over. I also decided last minute to bring my mom over. I was against it because it’s more work for me, wrangling and entertaining her as well as pick up, drop off…. Here’s where we’re at: I’m glad I did. I decided I should bring her because I know I would have felt guilty not doing so and that this is most likely her last “Functional” Thanksgiving. She’s deteriorating. She confused me with my Aunt, the kids, Doug… Times are shady and events a mystery to her. She still has her sick wit- just the facts jumbled about. So, the house was happy chaos with the kids and our cousins’ dog, Travis romping wildly about with Watts and, at some point before dinner I say, “Where’s Mom”. My FIL says; “I think she’s in your bedroom.” (No big, she likes to wander around the place, looking at pics and tidying dustballs. I go to look for her and see her pants, lying on Max’s beanbag in his room as I pass then I find her in our closet, in her underwear folding one of Doug’s shirts. (A brief note here as I have a small bit of gratitude for anyone, under any circumstance, folding one of Doug’s shirts…) and :
“Mom, you okay?”
Matter of fact; “Yes.”
“What are you doing?”
“Folding this shirt, it was on the lawn.” (As messy as my hubby if, I instantly register this as untrue.)
“Okay. Well, you don’t have any pants on.”
Again, totally matter of fact: “I know. I wet them.”
…”Kay. Need some pants?”
“I have other pants here.”
“No, Mom, this is my house (I do a lot of “updating” with her during our visits now) but I can get you some underwear and some pants.”
“Okay. Nothing Silly looking though. Just cause I wet my pants, doesn’t mean you can dress me funny.”
“Got it”…

And so it went. Here’s the rub. Now that she’s experiencing incontinence, she wears Depends. Although I found the wet pants and was handed the underwear… We still have not found the wet Depends…
Good Times.
It may sound horrifying but, like alcoholism, Cancer and any other tragic situation, we treat it with a lot of gallows humor. Maybe later today I enlist the kids in a rousing game of “Find The Diaper” then stuff my feelings with 15 more lbs of ambrosia…
Happy Thanksgiving!