It Only Took A Month...

I survived my mom’s hysterectomy and have managed a full recovery.

For those of you who believe that the sentence should have read, “my mom survived her hysterectomy”, you have obviously never been around someone who has had a hysterectomy.

People who actually have a hysterectomy receive awesome, mind altering substances in the hospital. Then they are released with enough pain medication to down a great, blue whale on crack. Those who are taking care of them are given nothing, not even an aspirin to alleviate the back pain from sitting in the hospital issue Torquemada chairs in the surgery waiting area.

I have come to the conclusion that it was a good thing that my mom decided not to smoke pot in her younger years, as she would be the one in the circle who giggled incessantly and made pronouncements like, “You know what? The sky is blue! Blue!” It would have been a waste of good pot…. and brain cells. Seeing my mom high was the highlight of my day. I needed the comic relief.

I sat in the “recliner” chair knitting on a sock while my mom faded in and out of lala land. I watched Law and Order: Criminal Intent or SVU or the original most of the day.

Memo to hospital administrators – You should be forced to sit in the chairs you buy for the patients and families that visit your hospital for at least three hours before buying them.

If you have 15 permutations of ESPN, you should have at least 5 channels for people who would rather go without pain medication than be subjected to sports television.

If you have a cafeteria, it should not close at 1:30p.m.

Most of all, you should drop the farce that a hospital is a pleasant place to be because you have muted colors and some hotel art on the walls. What makes or breaks a hospital experience is where you sit your butt. Personally, I could care less if the walls are painted crap brown with art courtesy of Mary Sister Elephant’s kindergarten class if the chair I am sitting in doesn’t make me wish I were numb from the head down.

P.S. It sends a mixed message to read the hospital’s mission statement promising quality care for one's loved one while sitting in a chair that makes one plot stealing the hammer from the maintenance dude's belt so that one can hit one's self in the head to make one's back stop hurting.

But I digress....

I had plans of all the wonderful things I would manage while taking care of my mom. I had intended to at least get a pair of socks or two finished before the first annual KY Sheep and Fiber Festival. (I want to apologize publicly to the friends I met in Lexington after a week at Chez Prep and Surgery Recovery. I was crazy, tired and suffering from brain dead personality disorder. Yellow Springs, OH should be better.) I had miscalculated how much work goes into caring for someone who has had surgery when you don't want to feed them fast food and protein bars.

I did make a few bizarre discoveries. Discovery number one: If you put a teaspoon of Benefiber in a 24 ounce smoothie, it will congeal to the consistency of caulking in less than five minutes. The serving size is two teaspoons in 8 ounces of water. Discovery number two: My mom's nurse friends enjoy getting entirely too much information. It would have been easier if I had put up the Mom's Vajayjay facebook page like I threatened to do. Discovery number three: Mom's Vajayjay should be a theoretical body part. No, seriously. Discovery number four: Sexism is alive an well and I managed to make it back to my parents' house with both size 10 Birkenstocks intact. I am withholding details to keep me from shooting fire out of my eyes.

Still, I read a few books; got a frightening look into the future, no Ouiji Board, crytal ball or scrying bowl required; scored some great fiber, a sweet drop spindle and great time with friends, and made it home in one piece to sleep in my own bed. At least it wasn't a family reunion or a Griswold Vacation. Now that would have taken a least six weeks and a six pack of micro brew to process.