Saying thanks
Back in July, when my mom called me at midnight because her heart was racing, I jumped in my truck and took her straight into the hospital. For the next eight hours we remained in a curtained off section in the emergency room while a drip tried to regulate her heartbeat. Around 6 AM when she was finally stabilized, I was slumped over in a metal chair, and she turned to look at me and said, “Thank you.”
A friend wrote recently that I ought to tell my mom the same.
I’ve been out of town the whole weekend and I went to the hospital and found mom looking more puny than before, and my heart just sank. She was in a new room with a new roommate. The other patient’s family was there and the curtain was drawn. They were talking as if no one was on the other side of the curtain.
While I was there, Mom pulled her vent out twice, but the hospital is insisting on not having her restraints on because god knows they can’t move her out until she’s off the restraints. She got pretty pissed when I kept her from pulling out the vent the third time and mouthed, “I want to go home.”
I said, “I know.” And then I said, “I want to thank you for being my mom. And for being the best mom.”
She said, “I wish I was the best mom.”
And I said, “You’re my mom, so you are perfect to me.”
On the other side of the curtain, the bustling daughter kept speaking LOUDLY to her mother. She said, “We’re making burgers tonight. Junior has an announcement to make.” Then she said, “Junior is the #1 Bobcat at his school!”
My mom lifted her thin arm and gave a thumbs down.
Whatyagonnado?