SIGH

My heartfelt thanks to those of you who left comments and sent emails offering up prayers and quick recovery wishes for my mother. You are quite a special group of people, indeed. My preference is to individually respond to each note I receive, but I am feeling a bit out of sorts. With that comes slacking on my part. I apologize for "lumping" my thank yous into this journal.

Before I left in the morning to pick up Mom, my tummy was doing somersaults and tears kept springing into my eyes. Lack of any sleep was not helping either of those things. Like most people, I have some terribly painful memories of hospitals. They were whipping through my mind one right after another.

When I arrived at Mom's, she greeted me with a, "Honey, I can't do this." I felt so bad for her. I assured her that she could do it and would be glad she did. She gathered up the items she wanted to take with her, since she would be spending the nite there. I filled out the medical form she was required to complete. One of my sisters then arrived, and we set off for the hospital. I was driving with my stomach caught in my throat. Gosh, I was afraid.

After the prepping was complete, the associate pastor from Mom's church joined us as we waited with Mom before being taken to the operating room. We kept everything lighthearted and upbeat. The pastor said a prayer moments before the nurses wheeled the bed to the operating room.

Now, you must understand this about me. I can be scared half out of my mind, but no one can tell by looking at or talking to me. I automatically go into joke mode. Some of the things that tumble out of my mouth shock even me at times. One simply would never begin to think I am shaking inside and wishing I could curl up somewhere and cry. Such was the case when we went to the hospital cafeteria for breakfast. Another one of my sisters had arrived by then, and we were waiting for the last one while we ate.

I was naughty. I told naughty jokes (uh huh, the pastor was with us during this), and I was able to get the pastor laughing a lot. There was serious conversation, too, and I certainly was able to focus on that and not be a fool. Side note: The pastor said if I ever write a book, she wants the first copy.

We went back to the waiting room. The receptionist took us to a little room to wait for the surgeon to come talk to us. He was a nice man, but his words rattled us to the core. The pacemaker procedure had gone well. No concerns there. But, he began to throw out a lot of things we were not prepared to hear. Additional procedures might need to be performed. Instead of Mom being able to discard any of her current mediations, she may need to take more. He is not sure the pacemaker will help stop the breathlessness she has been experiencing. He cannot say whether or not her leaking heart valve is contributing to that. He was extremely "iffy" about almost everything. And the four of us girls asked our questions with faces that surely reflected our growing concern.

We did not have a long wait before we were taken to see Mom in the recovery room. She looked beautiful. She was alert, and just her tiny face was peeking out from beneath the soft white blanket. She was pleasant. We did not know what the doctor had told her, so we were careful mentioning what he said to us. When Mom spoke about hopefully being able to get rid of some of her meds, we girls flashed brief glances toward one another. I then asked Mom what the doctor had to say to her afterward. Apparently, it was all limited to the implantation of the pacemaker. My stomach lurched. She has no idea what will be taking place within the next month or so. I thought I was going to cry. Instead, I made a joke that had two of my sisters laughing so hard they thought they were going to wet themselves. It is the only way I know how to cope.

Mom was taken to her private room, and we followed her there. After she was safely nestled in the bed and I had turned on the TV for her, I smooched her, and I left. I was sick inside. I was rattled and full of a million questions that I planned on writing down and asking her doctor.

After some phone calls to her friends, I climbed onto the couch and fell asleep. I had dreams. Bad ones.

Mom is being released sometime on Tuesday. I am going to skip my evening art class and go to her house and spend the nite with her. I do not want her to be alone, and she wants to sleep in her own bed rather than be at someone else's house. I will bring along my sketch pad and a book.

And I will wait on her hand and foot for the next few days. She deserves that.

"The mother's heart is the child's schoolroom." ~Henry Ward Beecher