Now I know what I have to do.
Whereas my mam wanted to do all the unpacking and arranging herself, she has given me permission, from her hospital bed, to go ahead and make her new home orderly and pretty and ready to move straight into. Her new home, that she hasn't even had the pleasure of seeing fully completed as yet.
My mam has cellulitis. Cel - u - lie - tus. It is an infection of the skin and sub-cutinous layers. We are told that microorgnisms have permeated her skin and have wrought havoc with her skin cells, causing them to become hot, red and - oh my - angry. The antibiotics she was receiving once a day via infusion were simply not strong enough to combat the formidable, occult microscopic invaders. An increase of administration and antibiotic strength was needed - hence her admission into hospital.
"Why?" and "How?" and "Where from?" are all questions on our lips, if not already spoken.
Although my mam is of good spirits, it is just terrible seeing her half sitting, half lying in a stiff hospital bed. Mam is usually the carer, not the cared for. It is as hard for her to be cared for as it is for us to see it. She is being a good patient and eating all her food and drink, and taking all her medications, and enduring some rough and some not so rough nursing staff taking blood from her usually well-behaved veins. Already, she knows the life stories of those in bed next to her, and those across the ward from her. Instead of reading or knitting or fathoming crosswords or finishing off woolly wombats as gifts for fortunate recipients, or doing other Granny related activities, my mam prefers to 'people watch' and offer sympathy and understanding to those around her who are at their most vulnerable.
We will be visiting her each day, and are prepared to be spellbound at her recovery and human life stories.
And while we are waiting for her return home, I will continue to unpack and organise and make her home inviting, comfortable and so very cosy.