You may have noticed I've been a little tight lipped concerning my mother lately. Today marks the two month anniversary of the day I rushed her to the emergency room. Again. While she was there for the clot in her leg, she developed a bacterial infection on her lungs, her weight plummeted to under 90 pounds, and 3 1/2 weeks ago, she had surgery to remove half of her left lung.
I wasn't all for that in her condition. I was assured it went well, and she'd recover in 3 to 5 days.
She crashed hard after that, and had to be put on a ventilator and a breathing tube. I took up residence in CCU and watched her sleep for three weeks, signing consent forms, running to the office, back to school shopping, and STILL doggedly working on the house. Yelling at doctors and nurses became a new hobby for me (I'm a bit of a bull moose. You were completely unaware of that, right?), while my blood pressure spiked and my ankles turned into cankles from standing beside her bed. Her condition remained critical.
Yeah, I know how to party.
Why am I telling you all of this now? Well, I hate to relate stories that are just downers, so...
Tuesday, I walked in at 6:45 AM, and her eyes were open! And she SMILED at me.
I didn't cry. Not until I got to the car. As far as she knew, I fully expected this.
Today, I walked into CCU, got my gown and gloves out of the drawers in the hallway as usual, and halted at the threshold to her room.
It was empty. The bed was made.
"Where's my mother?" I asked the desk in a surprisingly calm voice.
"Oh, she was moved to the fifth floor."
There was a little more yelling on my part about how a phone call would have been nice, but most of what you heard were keys jingling and my flats slapping the linoleum in a pretty brisk trot.
5 minutes later, there she was, smiling, sitting up, trying to mouth all kinds of silent questions to me, animated and expressive...
...in stable condition.