When an anti-depressant depresses

20 miles of gravel on the Eichenbaum State Trail

Mom has slightly improved. The nurses reduced her anti-depressant dose, and in the topsy-turvy world of pharmaceuticals, it has perked her up a little bit. She looks better, seems to feel better, and is able to get through a full thought occasionally without forgetting what she started to say.

"We think it was starting to snow her," said one of the nurses, on the dosage she was taking. Snow, as on a fuzzy TV.

The drama Sunday was all about Gloria. She's blind, maybe from birth, and 80-plus. For as long as she's been there, you could find her in her wheelchair out in the penalty box, reading in Braille, running her fingers over the thick pages of an untitled book. Sometimes she would gasp or say "No!" at a critical point in the narrative, and you would think,  "What is she reading? Must be a good book!"

But she is losing it. She doesn't read much any more, and if she doesn't sense the presence of somebody nearby, she'll call out "Help me! Help me!" and even shriek for some kind of reassurance. So we all say, "It's OK, Gloria. We're here." But often it's not enough. The other day they gave her a bath or shower and you could hear her throughout the entire floor crying out. "Help me please! Help me please! Ah, ah, ah! I'm dying! I'm dying!" It went on and on.

The other day Julie brought Ollie, the dog we babysit, and had Gloria touch his plush white fur. "Oh, this is nice," she said.

*

Rode my bike 110 miles yesterday, Milwaukee to Appleton. It was fun, felt good till I hit the Eichenbaum trail. If I were rich, I'd have it paved.

Eden, Wisconsin, where they grow the trucks big.

Recent Mom art