itchy hands

Today, we arrived at the hospital about the same time as we did yesterday, but we left around 2:15PM. I was sitting in the waiting room, facing away from the hallway that Mom usually pops out of, when Mom was led out by a nurse. I didn't know Mom and the nurse were behind me until the nurse called out, "Son!" --not knowing my name. It occurred to me that I had actually heard the nurse talking right before she'd called out son, and that's when I realized the nurse had asked Mom what my name was. Mom either couldn't or wouldn't say. Perhaps she hadn't understood the nurse's question, which is why the nurse ended up addressing me as "son."

Mom's been walking around the house a bit more these past few days, and her hands are all over everything. She walks into the kitchen and often tries to clean things up as she can, but she needs to be supervised: she'll wipe a surface with her hands instead of using a cloth, or she'll try to wipe the interior of the kitchen sink with a dishcloth. Yesterday, she saw a pan full of strawberry sauce and she tried to scoop it into a plastic container full of mi-yeok (a type of seaweed). I stopped Mom in time, and she exclaimed, "Oh, what am I doing?" It's amazing how compartmentalized the brain can be-- one part can realize that another part is doing something wrong.

Right now (4:30PM), Mom's sitting and talking with Pastor Kim, who's visiting. As has been true for at least the past week, she seems to be conversing on more than a rudimentary level. The exchanges remain fairly basic, but now Mom is able to elaborate on her initial thoughts. We celebrate what progress we see.


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