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Jun. 6th, 2021 12:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brandywine28Oof. Where to begin? You're all gonna think I'm deranged.
My mom had emergency surgery three weeks ago, to repair a perforated colon. She woke up one morning in tremendous pain, hid that fact from me for more than half a day because of course she did, and then when I finally got her to the E.R. it was like a horrible matryoshka thingamajig of unraveling information. The pain was the result of an infection, the infection was the result of the fucking hole in her colon and the hole? Still a mystery. Her colon. Perforated. How and when and where did that happen? The world may never know.
I sure as hell can't figure it out.
So I've been a wreck. And that's where the potential derangement comes in: Clearly, I haven't mentioned it. Not here, not amongst a group of friends who I know for a fact only wish me well. It wasn't that I didn't want to, it's more like I just -- couldn't. Like, physically. Whenever I thought about telling people, it's like my throat would close up and I would freeze. Like a deer in the headlights. Or a fishstick in the frozen foods aisle.
I still feel that way now, like a cheap, processed fishstick. I'm just powering through it, because enough is enough already. This is unhealthy.
She's fine. I literally can't say that often enough. She's fine, she's fine, she's fine. Actually, it's weird, but her blood pressure has never been better. We've only been able to really talk in the last few days or so, though; it's taken a long-ass time for her brain to come back online. An hour after she was extubated, I had a nurse hold a phone up to her ear so I could, well, basically cry at her and ramble and tell her I love her 40,000 times and she?
She told me to pay the cable bill.
Then, for a while, she would only talk about James Corden. (I guess the TV in her room was perma-switched to CBS?) She never used his actual name, he was always either "that guy who sings" or "the one who interviewed Prince Harry that time". Oh, and during this period, she apparently told the (male, Italian) nurse that "Italian" is the only flavor of man she's specifically NOT attracted to. He called me in hysterics. It was like one in the morning and he couldn't stop laughing.
But she's officially coherent now. Just tired. They moved her to a rehab facility a few days ago, 'cos she's just so physically weak and also because her incision isn't really healing and it needs some looking after. (They were supposed to do the surgery laparoscopically, but then did not do that, for reasons no one anywhere seems willing or able to explain to me.) She hates it there. But someone brought her a little dish of rocky road ice cream this morning, so that was good.
All I've really done in the last two weeks is scream at nurses over the phone. I keep saying, "you don't understand, she's my mother", like that's gonna magically unlock some higher level of care for her. I don't know. I don't know anymore. All I know is there isn't a single medical professional in the greater NY area who hasn't rolled their eyes at me at least once. Picture Shirley Maclaine screaming "give my daughter the shot!", slap a messy wig on it and stick it behind a Zoom screen -- you've got the general idea.
We're close, my mom and I. Even by single mother-only child standards. "Co-dependent" might be an apt way of describing it. Possibly. Perhaps. I'm not apologizing for it or making excuses, I just -- we're close.
And now my throat is doing that thing again where it closes up for no reason. I need someone to get over here and give me a spiritual Heimlich.
My mom had emergency surgery three weeks ago, to repair a perforated colon. She woke up one morning in tremendous pain, hid that fact from me for more than half a day because of course she did, and then when I finally got her to the E.R. it was like a horrible matryoshka thingamajig of unraveling information. The pain was the result of an infection, the infection was the result of the fucking hole in her colon and the hole? Still a mystery. Her colon. Perforated. How and when and where did that happen? The world may never know.
I sure as hell can't figure it out.
So I've been a wreck. And that's where the potential derangement comes in: Clearly, I haven't mentioned it. Not here, not amongst a group of friends who I know for a fact only wish me well. It wasn't that I didn't want to, it's more like I just -- couldn't. Like, physically. Whenever I thought about telling people, it's like my throat would close up and I would freeze. Like a deer in the headlights. Or a fishstick in the frozen foods aisle.
I still feel that way now, like a cheap, processed fishstick. I'm just powering through it, because enough is enough already. This is unhealthy.
She's fine. I literally can't say that often enough. She's fine, she's fine, she's fine. Actually, it's weird, but her blood pressure has never been better. We've only been able to really talk in the last few days or so, though; it's taken a long-ass time for her brain to come back online. An hour after she was extubated, I had a nurse hold a phone up to her ear so I could, well, basically cry at her and ramble and tell her I love her 40,000 times and she?
She told me to pay the cable bill.
Then, for a while, she would only talk about James Corden. (I guess the TV in her room was perma-switched to CBS?) She never used his actual name, he was always either "that guy who sings" or "the one who interviewed Prince Harry that time". Oh, and during this period, she apparently told the (male, Italian) nurse that "Italian" is the only flavor of man she's specifically NOT attracted to. He called me in hysterics. It was like one in the morning and he couldn't stop laughing.
But she's officially coherent now. Just tired. They moved her to a rehab facility a few days ago, 'cos she's just so physically weak and also because her incision isn't really healing and it needs some looking after. (They were supposed to do the surgery laparoscopically, but then did not do that, for reasons no one anywhere seems willing or able to explain to me.) She hates it there. But someone brought her a little dish of rocky road ice cream this morning, so that was good.
All I've really done in the last two weeks is scream at nurses over the phone. I keep saying, "you don't understand, she's my mother", like that's gonna magically unlock some higher level of care for her. I don't know. I don't know anymore. All I know is there isn't a single medical professional in the greater NY area who hasn't rolled their eyes at me at least once. Picture Shirley Maclaine screaming "give my daughter the shot!", slap a messy wig on it and stick it behind a Zoom screen -- you've got the general idea.
We're close, my mom and I. Even by single mother-only child standards. "Co-dependent" might be an apt way of describing it. Possibly. Perhaps. I'm not apologizing for it or making excuses, I just -- we're close.
And now my throat is doing that thing again where it closes up for no reason. I need someone to get over here and give me a spiritual Heimlich.