December 18, 2002
At least her feet are warm.
It’s been almost 48 hours since my mom collapsed. Doped up on Morphine, even when she opens her eyes or moves her toes, she may as well be completely asleep. Her blood pressure is up, but not as up as the doctors would like. Her cranial swelling is down, apparently never ballooning to where they had predicted. A couple more wires and tubes go in today, just to be sure that stuff that I honestly don’t want to know about, isn’t there. My dad is saying that he’ll probably spend the night at home this evening, rather than scrunched into one of those awful, squeaky vinyl waiting room sofas. I think he’s doing ok. My mom is doing ok too. At least her feet are warm. Her feet were never warm at home.
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