She’s staging a breakout. We’ve just passed the 30 day mark of Jack’s hospitalization and rehabilitation stint, and she is beyond restless.
The rehab center, located in a tony LA neighborhood, is pleasant, clean and its residents and staff are upbeat. To the occasional visitor like me, it feels as institutional as a suburban dental office. We can visit any time, never have to undergo an enhanced pat down.
Saunter in with the hound and it’s perfectly okay. Jack can wear her own clothes, and go to the on premise beauty salon and find someone to trim her dead ends. There’s a center courtyard where on a beautiful, sunny LA afternoon in December, the residents can work on their base tans. No one is drooling.
Unfortunately, we’re in the eye of the Pineapple Express storm. Good for the lawn, not so good for holiday travelers or the inmates.
Jack was never going to be patient or complacent, but with Christmas around the corner and the incessant rain her feral nature is showing through the cracks. When my mother-in-law’s arms and legs basically gave out she was momentarily sidelined from her singular goal of getting the hell out.
Not lost on me is that this is a place for healing. Now she is forced to take her meds, and miraculously her limbs shrunk down to normal size. With the patient guidance of her physical therapist, Jack can now slide from bed to the wheelchair without the need of the human crane. But, she has pronounced that she is coming home the days between Christmas and the New Year. There is no plan in place, mind you. Watch this space.
