Dying !

"Ugh!  I feel awful!"

I look up from my computer and study my mother's face.  Her expression is a grimace.  She looks like she is dying.  I am immediately alarmed and ask what is wrong.

 She replies, "Everything."  She is looking around the room with a growing panic. 

"Oh no!  Do you have to throw up?" I ask nervously.

"No," she shakes her head blinking and looking confused.

"Are you in pain?"

"No."

"Are you dizzy?"

"No."

I am trying to go through the litany of medical conditions.  Hives, shaking, fever, coughing, nausea, rash, seizures, stroke, heart attack, bleeding out your eyes, uh...uh...I am running out of things to ask.  Mom is now flopping around on the sofa, gasping and miserable.  Her hand flips at her throat like there is something in her esophagus.  Suddenly it dawns on me that I have overlooked the obvious: "Do you have indigestion?"

"Yes!"

GAAAAA.   My mother's flare for drama is not missed by me as I give her two antacid tablets and tell her to chew them.   Two minutes later Mom is sitting comfortably ensconced on the sofa and when I ask her if she is feeling better she remarks that she is fine.  She shoots me a look that says I must be nuts to ask that question.  There is no memory of her recent 'brush with death' .  I think back to the biscuit she had for lunch slathered with butter.  I think about the giant cookie she ate for dessert.  Fifteen  minutes later she was back at the island waiting for food.  (She forgot that she had just eaten.)  I worry that Skip will feel sorry for her and feed her again.  I leave the kitchen and remind Skip that he is to keep Mom from overeating.  Since she has lost her memory she assumes that it is always time to eat.  The saddest part of it is that I am continuously cooking to keep her happy and occupied.  She eats snacks, little treats, has her afternoon tea, and her three meals a day. Through it all she retains a slim figure while I gain weight with each turn of the mixing bowl.  My genetic heritage skipped right over my mother.   

I retrace the activity that brought my mother to her knees.  It was her afternoon tea.  My sainted husband who possesses a strong desire to please my mother gave her a rich salted caramel brownie with cream cheese frosting alongside her tea.  Now it is getting close to dinnertime and I will probably have to wrestle Mom to the floor to keep her out of the kitchen.

Skip walks in from having run an errand.  He is carrying bags from the grocery store.  I know that there are things in there that Mom shouldn't have.  I rush to hide them away.  We are slow learners.  If food is out on the counter, Mom samples it regardless of whose it may be. Last week,  I made a lovely icebox cake.  It was a rich concoction made with heavy whipping cream, Kahlua, chocolate, lots of cream cheese, and layered in decadently rich chocolate chip cookies.  Skip left half of his over and had it on the counter.   When he went back to get it, there was nothing but  a trail of crumbs.  Someone had pilfered his dessert and upon visiting the scene of the crime we deduced that the evidence led back to Mom.  It was clear from the expression on her face that she wasn't feeling well.  She had overeaten.  

Mom challenges us on an hourly basis.  This is one among many issues. However, I consider the alternative and am grateful for who she is.  Yes...it could be worse.