Mom will spend the next few weeks in the nursing home, getting physical therapy and other help. Her own favorite doctor will visit her there and make sure her meds are right.
I'm meeting with the admissions director (I think) tomorrow morning to get all of the details surrounding her stay, how long she can with full Medicare coverage, how long she can stay with 80% coverage, how much the 20% translates to in dollars, and what services are covered.
It's a very nice place, as these places go, much nicer than the one In Ocean City. For one thing, there are no huge gilt mirrors, and the furniture is colonial-style dark wood, and the bed is comfortable, and the nurses aren't on strike.
The grounds are lovely -- you drive through a beautiful woods to get there -- and there are porches and gazebos and paths. Then there are the housepets: several cages of lovely bright parakeets, a shaggy black dog as big as a pony, and a sweet tortoiseshell cat. I scooped up the cat and showed him to Mom; she was delighted and gave him a nice skritch behind the ears.
And yes, I asked; it's not the Nursing Home Death Cat.
This morning she insisted that she had to have some bras, so off I went to Target to see if could find some front-loading, soft-cup, wide-strap bras in 40C.
No such luck. But I did find some nice ones that only had three hooks in the back, so I grabbed some of them. I was showing them to Mom when I realized that they were nursing bras.
Oh well. I doubt that Mom will notice, if she ever gets one of them on.
Because we also realized that she really can't wear any bra, because the strap will go right over the incision they made for her pacemaker, irritate the hell out of it, and hurt.
So she's braless for the nonce.
But at least there's a kitty.