DH and I went over to the nursing home for their “care conference” and, once again, they had the “conference” in her multi-patient room.  At least this time they were ready for us because I made a rather loud remark at the check-in desk about how they screwed up last time.  As we walked to the elevator, we heard the receptionist page them to the phone.  It was amazing to find three staff members hovering over Mom when we came into the room as if they’d been waiting for us.  I might have believed it if we weren’t early and if two of them weren’t a bit winded.

     They hate it when I come in with DH.  I pull out my notebook, “Before we start I want your names.”  Then I make a point of checking my watch and putting the date and time in my notebook before they speak.  All the while they are talking I take notes.  It drives them crazy and keeps me happy and sane to do this to them.

     It’s rough on DH and brings me to tears.  Mom is not there mentally and these past few weeks she’s gone rapidly down hill physically.  They finally have the DNR on her chart.  We feel that as far-gone as she is, it isn’t fair to her to have them prolong her agony.  (I swear I am going to have ‘DNR’ tattooed on my chest!)