March 27, 2005
Happy Easter Birthday
Mom went home from the
hospital last Tuesday, less than two weeks after
her double lung transplant surgery.
We've talked on the
phone nearly every day since she was released. Sometimes she
calls me at the office -- a welcome break from soil
density reports and crabby Junior Environmental Engineers griping
because the Dirt Company refrigerator "smells funny"
-- while other times she calls the apartment in the
evenings after work. The first night she called me at home,
didn't even recognize her voice.
"I think it's Jaymi," he
whispered, one hand clapped over the
receiver. Later he said he was confused because her voice sounded so "young."
My mother and I have spoken more on the
phone this past week, I think, than in the past two years put
this point I'm still allowing her to initiate the long-distance
conversations -- not because I'm too cheap to put the call
on *my* nickel, but because I'm terrified that I'm going to
call while she's napping and wake her up, and god knows she needs her
rest at a time like this -- but she tells me not to
worry about that.
"I've got the next
twelve weeks to nap," she says.
That's how long the
recuperation period is supposed to take, I guess: twelve
weeks. Of course there will be many weeks (months/years/decades) of support medication and physical therapy and intense
medical scrutiny after that, once the official 'recuperation' is
over. But for these first twelve weeks, it will
be all about laying low and staying quiet and allowing Vince to wait on
her hand and foot while things mend. Fortunately, my mother
is one of those people -- like me -- who can always find ways to entertain herself, even during
periods of prolonged enforced bed rest. (See: Unfortunate
Stoopid Accidental Rib Fracture, Summer 2004.) Books will
play a big
part in her recuperation, I'm sure. And TV. And her
various scrapbooking projects. And the
Internet. ("The new laptop arrives next week," she
says. Translation: Are you
planning to start
writing *FootNotes* again, any time soon?)
And when all else
fails ... there's always
the phone. Which is fine with me. Because if anything
makes my winter-weary/rain-weary/Dirt-Company-weary heart soar these days, it is the sound of her strong, calm,
cheerful voice on the end of the line.
Mom. I love you VERY much!
throw a rock?