Tuesday, Feb. 15, 2005
9 a.m.

Those of you who have written with some concern that the mystery lady was casing the joint will be glad to hear that she came back to our house after dark so we know she was not a potential burglar. She had been wandering around all day and was lost, confused, cold and incontinent, and we warmed her up and called the police to come and get her. She didn't know where home was; I'm thinking Alzheimers because she had some difficulty saying "steering wheel" and kept trying to say weering steel instead.

I will follow up by calling the police to find out what happened to her and perhaps get a contact with more information, because she said she had been lost a week earlier and it is possible she could turn up at our door again. I want to find out whether it is safe to let her in -- whether she has any history of violence. I suspect not, but don't want to take a chance, especially if Scott happens not to be home. At the same time, I don't want to leave her standing out on the doorstep when she needs help.

***

My sister Karen came across a barbershop quartette (oh forgive me, my own sex, but I'd rather listen to a barbershop quartette than the Sweet Adelines any day!) for hire, and engaged them to go sing three songs to Mom on Valentine's Day. So yesterday they tripped up to the hospital in the mid afternoon, all dudied up in tuxes and bowties, and broke into Let Me Call You Sweetheart.

Dad was here afterward and described what happened.

"They had to sing an extra song because Mom cried all the way through the first one. Karen was sitting there crying too. Shit, I damn near cried! She loved it. That really made her day."

She also got the results of her bone scan so now we know that there are no new cancer metastases. It appears that the radiation didn't "get it all" last time so they will radiate again this week at the same points cancer was found before. This was considered good news; we did not want to hear that the cancer is spreading.

When I went in there yesterday morning she was in so much pain that she wouldn't let me touch her feet. They had been giving her much higher doses of painkillers and it was making no difference. One doctor examined her, made her roll over and lift her legs and stuff, and it hurt enough to make her cry.

I will have to write one day about Mom's incredulous dawning awareness that there are such a thing as angels. But for now I must get to work.