Pete, smart Pete, has always contended that hardship sells. And he’s right. I wish it wasn’t so. But as people are drawn to the scene of an accident, they are also drawn in the direction of others’ travails. This could be because we self-identify with those who have fallen on any kind of hard times. What we think, though we usually don’t say it, is shit, that poor bum by the side of the road holding his bleeding head in his hands could be me.

It was a very tough day. Seems like hard ones follow easy ones. It was perhaps the toughest day here at Pacifica. We arrived at mother’s bedside and immediately discovered that she had a sore wrist. It’s never as easy around her as getting a quick diagnosis from one person. And then having said diagnostician prescribe drugs. Oh no. Around here, there is an endless chain of command to deal with, and of course this takes considerable time.

This time, we had to enlist the services of an R.N. an Elderplace speech therapist, and an Elderplace social worker. As in, how many medical professions does it take to doctor one person? I never did catch sight of the doctor – I guess she issued orders at the distance.

The doctor (according to Eleanor) speculated that perhaps mother had gout, due to excess protein in her diet. My thinking was that she banged her wrist against a wall. I suggested ice and a wrist guard. Locating an icepack in this place was impossible. El ended up filling surgical gloves with water and freezing them. I have to hand it to my sister – this actually worked.

And Uncle Bob complicated matters by repeatedly asking the staff why they didn’t do this, this, and this. This would have been fine, but his blustering seemed to come after the fact. We finally went to the hospital cafeteria for lunch, he contentious, El stressed, me baffled. No, I did not know why the Adventist hospital only serves vegetarian food – my lack of knowledge bothered him more than the fact that they served fake bacon. So be it.

Me, I just want to head home and leave him and his stupid blunderings behind. He’s now sleeping in El’s room, and I’m sleeping on the couch because I don’t want to sleep with El and her mean, hissy cat. The cat – Grey Baby – it belonged to mother – is a mean kitty. Uncle Bob has been bitten by El’s other cat.

Anyhow, I don’t mind being on the couch. But this bothers El.

I have become increasingly more depressed since arriving here several days ago. I have had enough. And because I’m depressed I don’t have the energy to exercise and don’t feel like eating well. Horseback riding and Feldenkrias work and internal martial arts training now seem part and parcel like it was all a part of a distant life. I am doing nothing but hanging out and eating restaurant food. If I see one more French fry I am going to puke.

I’d say, on the bright side of this – but right now there is no bright side. Actually, there is a bright side, but it is a 4 hour airplane ride distant. I am looking forward to getting back to that place. I keep picturing the Alaska Airlines airplane wheels bump and hit the ground. And yes, I have been thinking that this will be with the realization that I have once again cheated death.

Next: 92. 4/6/16: Home?