Waiting Rooms and Memories
Here's the TL:DR Dad had his reconstruction surgery, he survived, I dealt with crazy people and nice ones in the waiting room and I cried in a store.
Dad went down for surgery this morning around 7:30am and they told me it would take approximately two hours. As we all know, surgery times are approximations and often don't mean much of anything. I had knitting so I wasn't concerned. I was also alone, so I knew I could get up and go for a walk or grab food when and if I felt like it. It was basically my ideal waiting situation. As I settled in, knitting my sock, a very kind gentleman asked me if I was knitting a sock. We ended up having a lovely conversation and we were shortly joined by the rest of his family. They were also lovely. Then the curse of my mother and I hit me. Maybe it was my mom just getting a laugh from the other side. Because the worst companion to ever descend upon me joined us in the waiting room. The woman who proceeds to tell you her entire life story, the story of her entire family, shows you pictures of all of her crafts, her surgery scars and gives you all of the details of how her marriage ended (at gunpoint; she told me that part at least three times.) I actually muttered, "Thanks, Mom" under my breath. Because this is the type of thing that would have happened to her. And if this would have happened a few weeks ago I would have been texting her to tell her all about it. In fact I would probably have been texting her a play by play as it unfolded. Instead, I furiously knit my sock. I didn't measure it, I just kept my hands busy, so I really hope it actually fits me. I felt my energy being sucked out of me. It was like I'd drunk the Sanderson Sisters' potion in Hocus Pocus and she was sucking out my soul. I have never been so excited to hear them call me from the front desk in my life. That two hour surgery time? FOUR HOURS. I was so irritated by the whole mess of the insane woman, and worried about Dad that I honestly didn't cry about not being able to call Mom. I was feeling ok about the whole thing.
I got good reports from the doctors. They were able to do what they'd set out to do, no skin grafts necessary. Complete closure. Now just keep him in as little pain as possible, keep him infection free, healing and keep his nutrition up. Once I got to see him, he was in a lot of pain, so once we got pain meds in him and I was feeling good that he was settled, I went and had lunch and met up with my aunt. When we went back to see him, his only real concern was when I was going to bring him shaved ice. He's been asking me to bring him shaved ice for the last four days. I've been telling him for the last four days that I can't give him shaved ice because of his feeding tube and trach. He's a former EMT. He knows the drill. He's just being a shithead. Today he tells me to go tell the nurse that the lack of permission for shaved ice is bullshit. So I passed the message along. I also filled them in on these requests in case their lip reading skills don't extend to shaved ice and sherbet. Because those seem to be his only real priorities other than suctioning and pain meds. In other words, he still has an attitude problem and a sense of humor. I'm thinking we might be making progress on this whole recovering thing.
So I leave the hospital drained after my whole day being there and decide to stop at this boutique gift shop place in the town I'm staying in. They carry a ton of stuff and I drive by it all of the time but have never actually been in it before. So I go in and I find some Mantraband bracelets on sale and I'm looking around and I find a display cabinet with Wizard of Oz snow globes and they all have the flying monkeys in or on them and I immediately start tearing up. Because the last conversation I had with my mom we were discussing my love of Wizard of Oz and how I was scared to death of the flying monkeys as a small child. In fact that's how I learned how to use the VCR. I constantly wanted to watch the movie, but refused to watch any part with the monkeys and she was tired of fast forwarding for me, so she just showed me how to do it. We were talking about that on the phone the night she passed away. So the sight of those stupid snow globes immediately had me tearing up. I walked to another part of the store as fast as I could. The lady at the front had said there was more to the store downstairs, so I tried to get myself together then wandered downstairs.
As I walked downstairs I was greeted by a sweet little dog. As I was petting the dog a woman called out hello. She introduced herself as the owner and we started chatting. The inevitable question of where I was from and why I was in town came up. I've learned to just tell a very brief truth. My parents are from here. We were in town for mom's funeral, I'm still here because Dad is in the ICU. That way if I start crying for no damn reason, I don't have to explain and I look less crazy because they already know the backstory. It's easier to say up front than AFTER I start crying for no reason. Let's just say I've learned from experience at this point. She does the usual I'm sorry. I say the usual thanks and then change the subject to the store and it's cute, things are nice blah blah blah. So she goes back about her business and I happen to wander to the side and realize the ENTIRE side is all memorial markers. Like things you would put with a memorial tree or in a garden or whatever. THE ENTIRE WALL. So the tears from upstairs? Now free falling down my face. Now I'm not ok. Not ok at all. Because now I want to buy like 5 of those things but I can't because I can't talk because if I do I'll be sobbing. So instead, I try really inconspicuously to wipe the tears away, while sniffling like crazy and all but run back upstairs to buy the bracelets I asked them to set aside.
So I'm torn because part of me is so damn grateful to be so sad. Because this sadness means that my mom was so important, so meaningful that a stupid snow globe makes me lose my shit. And the other part of me wonders how long it is going to be before I can go in public without wishing I remembered to shove tissues in my pocket or my bag because I can't seem to go ANYWHERE without crying over something as stupid as a damn snow globe. I will never not miss my mom. I will never not wish I could call her, or talk to her or hug her. I will never not want to tell important things, or trivial things. But I'm so, so eternally grateful for the 35 years I had her. So lucky to have been able to have called her my mom.
But I really, really wish I could go into a store and not be the crazy girl with the dead mom and the sick dad, at least for a day.
Dad went down for surgery this morning around 7:30am and they told me it would take approximately two hours. As we all know, surgery times are approximations and often don't mean much of anything. I had knitting so I wasn't concerned. I was also alone, so I knew I could get up and go for a walk or grab food when and if I felt like it. It was basically my ideal waiting situation. As I settled in, knitting my sock, a very kind gentleman asked me if I was knitting a sock. We ended up having a lovely conversation and we were shortly joined by the rest of his family. They were also lovely. Then the curse of my mother and I hit me. Maybe it was my mom just getting a laugh from the other side. Because the worst companion to ever descend upon me joined us in the waiting room. The woman who proceeds to tell you her entire life story, the story of her entire family, shows you pictures of all of her crafts, her surgery scars and gives you all of the details of how her marriage ended (at gunpoint; she told me that part at least three times.) I actually muttered, "Thanks, Mom" under my breath. Because this is the type of thing that would have happened to her. And if this would have happened a few weeks ago I would have been texting her to tell her all about it. In fact I would probably have been texting her a play by play as it unfolded. Instead, I furiously knit my sock. I didn't measure it, I just kept my hands busy, so I really hope it actually fits me. I felt my energy being sucked out of me. It was like I'd drunk the Sanderson Sisters' potion in Hocus Pocus and she was sucking out my soul. I have never been so excited to hear them call me from the front desk in my life. That two hour surgery time? FOUR HOURS. I was so irritated by the whole mess of the insane woman, and worried about Dad that I honestly didn't cry about not being able to call Mom. I was feeling ok about the whole thing.
I got good reports from the doctors. They were able to do what they'd set out to do, no skin grafts necessary. Complete closure. Now just keep him in as little pain as possible, keep him infection free, healing and keep his nutrition up. Once I got to see him, he was in a lot of pain, so once we got pain meds in him and I was feeling good that he was settled, I went and had lunch and met up with my aunt. When we went back to see him, his only real concern was when I was going to bring him shaved ice. He's been asking me to bring him shaved ice for the last four days. I've been telling him for the last four days that I can't give him shaved ice because of his feeding tube and trach. He's a former EMT. He knows the drill. He's just being a shithead. Today he tells me to go tell the nurse that the lack of permission for shaved ice is bullshit. So I passed the message along. I also filled them in on these requests in case their lip reading skills don't extend to shaved ice and sherbet. Because those seem to be his only real priorities other than suctioning and pain meds. In other words, he still has an attitude problem and a sense of humor. I'm thinking we might be making progress on this whole recovering thing.
So I leave the hospital drained after my whole day being there and decide to stop at this boutique gift shop place in the town I'm staying in. They carry a ton of stuff and I drive by it all of the time but have never actually been in it before. So I go in and I find some Mantraband bracelets on sale and I'm looking around and I find a display cabinet with Wizard of Oz snow globes and they all have the flying monkeys in or on them and I immediately start tearing up. Because the last conversation I had with my mom we were discussing my love of Wizard of Oz and how I was scared to death of the flying monkeys as a small child. In fact that's how I learned how to use the VCR. I constantly wanted to watch the movie, but refused to watch any part with the monkeys and she was tired of fast forwarding for me, so she just showed me how to do it. We were talking about that on the phone the night she passed away. So the sight of those stupid snow globes immediately had me tearing up. I walked to another part of the store as fast as I could. The lady at the front had said there was more to the store downstairs, so I tried to get myself together then wandered downstairs.
As I walked downstairs I was greeted by a sweet little dog. As I was petting the dog a woman called out hello. She introduced herself as the owner and we started chatting. The inevitable question of where I was from and why I was in town came up. I've learned to just tell a very brief truth. My parents are from here. We were in town for mom's funeral, I'm still here because Dad is in the ICU. That way if I start crying for no damn reason, I don't have to explain and I look less crazy because they already know the backstory. It's easier to say up front than AFTER I start crying for no reason. Let's just say I've learned from experience at this point. She does the usual I'm sorry. I say the usual thanks and then change the subject to the store and it's cute, things are nice blah blah blah. So she goes back about her business and I happen to wander to the side and realize the ENTIRE side is all memorial markers. Like things you would put with a memorial tree or in a garden or whatever. THE ENTIRE WALL. So the tears from upstairs? Now free falling down my face. Now I'm not ok. Not ok at all. Because now I want to buy like 5 of those things but I can't because I can't talk because if I do I'll be sobbing. So instead, I try really inconspicuously to wipe the tears away, while sniffling like crazy and all but run back upstairs to buy the bracelets I asked them to set aside.
So I'm torn because part of me is so damn grateful to be so sad. Because this sadness means that my mom was so important, so meaningful that a stupid snow globe makes me lose my shit. And the other part of me wonders how long it is going to be before I can go in public without wishing I remembered to shove tissues in my pocket or my bag because I can't seem to go ANYWHERE without crying over something as stupid as a damn snow globe. I will never not miss my mom. I will never not wish I could call her, or talk to her or hug her. I will never not want to tell important things, or trivial things. But I'm so, so eternally grateful for the 35 years I had her. So lucky to have been able to have called her my mom.
But I really, really wish I could go into a store and not be the crazy girl with the dead mom and the sick dad, at least for a day.
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