Momma's Big Surgery
Yesterday morning, I begrudgingly got up. I showered, packed dirty clothes into a carryon and walked out the door. I had gotten home very late Tuesday after coming from another hospital, as Mr. Fidget had a heart attack Monday night. While everything is fine on his front, it was still arduous to go, see him, drive to the east side to drop off Fidget's sister, and then come all the way home.
So I slept fitfully, realizing we were counting down the days to my mother's surgery. I spoke with her at length on Tuesday evening, telling stories of Fidget's dad's heart attack and how it was in that hospital. I drank two glasses of wine and ate some M&Ms, then crawled into bed with a snoring Fidget, and then tossed and turned, Sadie not impressed with my sleeping arrangements.
Wednesday, I woke up late, showered, packed a bag, then took the wrong way to the airport to put us soundly in traffic. I arrived at 0741, which was hilarious since the plane was to start boarding at 0745. I boogied through security, then got to the plane, still able to get a window seat and have a seat between me and my neighbor. I attempted to do homework until the plane's movements finally got to me and I conked out at many tens of thousands of feet.
I landed, picked up by an intermittently crying Da-ee, who's so scared for this surgery. We talked about the move and his upcoming hand surgery, and I was finally able to convince him to hold off on back surgery until they move to Maryland. He asked about Fidget's job and about my licensing requirements. He told me how thankful he was I was able to come down and how difficult things have been with this surgery upcoming and looming over their household.
Momma, on the other hand, was extremely active when I got home. She was cleaning everything she could find, a common Hurt coping skill when we are particularly stressed out. I made a fancy lunch, then we gallivanted to have our hair cut, along with our nails and toes done. I left in a puddle of goo after being rubbed for an hour. We trolled through CVS, buying ridiculous things and laughing a lot. I drove her home and we informed Da-ee of our day, showing off haircuts and pretty toes, then attempted to get enough energy in order to begin the pre-surgery process. I sat my mother down in a shower chair and vigorously scrubbed her back, and again scrubbed everything, and scrubbed everything some more. Momma lamented that the bottle clearly was made for a bigger person; she just didn't have enough skin! After making delicious fajitas, we scrubbed her down with wipes and I put her now-tacky self into her bed, then tried to get my own sleep. I was then awakened to my father stumbling about who's been trying to occasionally snooze. After making sure both parents were secure, I fitfully slept for 2.5 hours until my father called my cell phone twenty minutes earlier than my alarm to remind me to help my mother bathe again.
When I finally woke up, my eyes seemed glued shut and hot from the lack of sleep. I got my mother back into the shower chair, rubbed all of her skin off again, as she sat there shivering and waiting for the lather to set. We then had to pack up Da-ee, so both parents were having difficulties. They're complaining about each other, each one toxic to the other's mental health. I try to do my own crisis management, still being compassionate but giving direct orders so we can get to the hospital in time. We load into the car and I zoom down roads that I don't remember from my childhood, trying to remember where my seventh grade's mother lives but not seeing it on the now-three-lane highway. I drop them off, getting them matching wheelchairs to go into the waiting area.
My father's face is heavy; my mother's is blank.
They quickly take her back, saying they'll come back for the family members soon enough. I distract my father with the new technology of the Chromebook, trying to get onto the hospital's Wi-Fi and make sure his phone is using it versus the data plan. He's so tired; I am, too. A woman finally calls out my mother's name, and we go wheeling through the prep room, his wheelchair bogged down by bags and belongings and my water bottle for good measure.
Momma has a hairnet over her now-shorn French braid that the lady did for her last night. She's tired, fading in and out because of the amount of stress. Her heart rate is good, but they want to give her a breathing treatment because of a "little wheeze." We prompt her to stay awake and keep puffing, as nurses check lines and doctors come through. The neurosurgeon comes in, introducing his partner to me, introducing his patient to his partner. I'm introduced as the daughter, my father now just a man in a chair; my number is given to nurses, the volunteer who's going to update me on her status. Da-ee's holding her hand, telling her he loves her. I put my head next to her, tell her she's going to get a new back and not to be scared, that we'll take her new back for a ride when she's all healed up. Momma nods...
... and I wheel my father out of the prep bays back to the waiting room.
EDIT 2000: Momma made it through surgery. She lost about three liters of blood during the procedure and needed a blood transfusion. We got there before 0600 and were called at 1800 that they were closing her up and the surgeon was coming out to speak to us. Needless to say, the three of us are exhausted. She'll spend the night in the ICU under sedation, so Da-ee and I came home to get some rest, then go to visit her tomorrow.
So I slept fitfully, realizing we were counting down the days to my mother's surgery. I spoke with her at length on Tuesday evening, telling stories of Fidget's dad's heart attack and how it was in that hospital. I drank two glasses of wine and ate some M&Ms, then crawled into bed with a snoring Fidget, and then tossed and turned, Sadie not impressed with my sleeping arrangements.
Wednesday, I woke up late, showered, packed a bag, then took the wrong way to the airport to put us soundly in traffic. I arrived at 0741, which was hilarious since the plane was to start boarding at 0745. I boogied through security, then got to the plane, still able to get a window seat and have a seat between me and my neighbor. I attempted to do homework until the plane's movements finally got to me and I conked out at many tens of thousands of feet.
I landed, picked up by an intermittently crying Da-ee, who's so scared for this surgery. We talked about the move and his upcoming hand surgery, and I was finally able to convince him to hold off on back surgery until they move to Maryland. He asked about Fidget's job and about my licensing requirements. He told me how thankful he was I was able to come down and how difficult things have been with this surgery upcoming and looming over their household.
Momma, on the other hand, was extremely active when I got home. She was cleaning everything she could find, a common Hurt coping skill when we are particularly stressed out. I made a fancy lunch, then we gallivanted to have our hair cut, along with our nails and toes done. I left in a puddle of goo after being rubbed for an hour. We trolled through CVS, buying ridiculous things and laughing a lot. I drove her home and we informed Da-ee of our day, showing off haircuts and pretty toes, then attempted to get enough energy in order to begin the pre-surgery process. I sat my mother down in a shower chair and vigorously scrubbed her back, and again scrubbed everything, and scrubbed everything some more. Momma lamented that the bottle clearly was made for a bigger person; she just didn't have enough skin! After making delicious fajitas, we scrubbed her down with wipes and I put her now-tacky self into her bed, then tried to get my own sleep. I was then awakened to my father stumbling about who's been trying to occasionally snooze. After making sure both parents were secure, I fitfully slept for 2.5 hours until my father called my cell phone twenty minutes earlier than my alarm to remind me to help my mother bathe again.
When I finally woke up, my eyes seemed glued shut and hot from the lack of sleep. I got my mother back into the shower chair, rubbed all of her skin off again, as she sat there shivering and waiting for the lather to set. We then had to pack up Da-ee, so both parents were having difficulties. They're complaining about each other, each one toxic to the other's mental health. I try to do my own crisis management, still being compassionate but giving direct orders so we can get to the hospital in time. We load into the car and I zoom down roads that I don't remember from my childhood, trying to remember where my seventh grade's mother lives but not seeing it on the now-three-lane highway. I drop them off, getting them matching wheelchairs to go into the waiting area.
My father's face is heavy; my mother's is blank.
They quickly take her back, saying they'll come back for the family members soon enough. I distract my father with the new technology of the Chromebook, trying to get onto the hospital's Wi-Fi and make sure his phone is using it versus the data plan. He's so tired; I am, too. A woman finally calls out my mother's name, and we go wheeling through the prep room, his wheelchair bogged down by bags and belongings and my water bottle for good measure.
Momma has a hairnet over her now-shorn French braid that the lady did for her last night. She's tired, fading in and out because of the amount of stress. Her heart rate is good, but they want to give her a breathing treatment because of a "little wheeze." We prompt her to stay awake and keep puffing, as nurses check lines and doctors come through. The neurosurgeon comes in, introducing his partner to me, introducing his patient to his partner. I'm introduced as the daughter, my father now just a man in a chair; my number is given to nurses, the volunteer who's going to update me on her status. Da-ee's holding her hand, telling her he loves her. I put my head next to her, tell her she's going to get a new back and not to be scared, that we'll take her new back for a ride when she's all healed up. Momma nods...
... and I wheel my father out of the prep bays back to the waiting room.
EDIT 2000: Momma made it through surgery. She lost about three liters of blood during the procedure and needed a blood transfusion. We got there before 0600 and were called at 1800 that they were closing her up and the surgeon was coming out to speak to us. Needless to say, the three of us are exhausted. She'll spend the night in the ICU under sedation, so Da-ee and I came home to get some rest, then go to visit her tomorrow.