after Linda

Gosh! After Linda.

Well, you understand, Linda isn't dead. The woman I was married to for ever so long is.

On 5 October 2020, I found Linda lying on the floor of the bathroom in our apartment. She couldn't speak to me. She couldn't get up. I couldn't lift her.

How frightening was that? It took me a minute to think, "Call the paramedics!" It took another minute to remember how to do that.

The paramedics came and were able to lift her into a chair that turns into a gurney. The chair made it easier for them to get her down the stairs and out of the apartment building. The gurney made it easier to put her into the ambulance, and take her out of the ambulance, and wheel her into the hospital.

Her gall bladder had catastrophically collapsed. She didn't speak again until May. When she did she had no memories from my Linda. Not where she was born, her childhood, her teenagering, her young womanhood, or her womanhood. Nothing. She was a new person, already sixty-nine years old.

She was in the hospital eleven days, I think. She has been in a skilled nursing facility since then.

I talk to her now and then. Usually she recognizes my voice - she had to relearn that after she started speaking again. Usually she knows the day of the week. I don't think the calendar means anything to her. I don't think space, the earth, or current events mean anything to her.

So far that is after Linda for the new person.

Me? I lasted about four months. One day I recognized that I was having some kind of attack. I managed to call the paramedics and tell them my location. At least I think I did.

They took me to the nearest hospital. I was there three days before they could transfer me to Kaiser-Permnente. I was in Kaiser for a week, I think.

What had happened? Silly me! I had a battery of medications I was supposed to take on a strict schedule. Apparently I didn't. My blood chemistry was all screwed up. The first hospital had to just get that back to normal. Kaiser had to get me back on my approved regimen, get me some strength, and convince themselves I could walk safely, and that I had a safe place to go.

My very good friend Patricia took charge. She got me into Atria Senior Living Facility in Santa Clarita where the caregivers brought me my pills when I was supposed to take them and watched me do so.

Unfortunately Atria kept raising the price for my room and board and medical care. Soon I could no longer afford Atria. It was a very nice place, but now I am in Brookdale Senior Living Facility in Whittier. It also is a nice place but I can afford it.

Here's to a long and peaceful stay.

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