If it’s how you play the game…
Then Mom, you’re the MVP.
I can’t believe how I just spent the last the 24… 36 hours of my life. The last time I spent that much time in a hospital was with my mom and that was 25 years ago when I was born, okay …27 ½ years ago. And here we are so many years later, the roles a little reversed but not as much as one might think.
There are no words to describe how amazing this woman, MY MOTHER is. She says that it is not strength and that she wished people would stop telling her how strong she is … and I agree it probably isn’t strength that gets her through … it’s just who she is, always has been and always will be. This surgery, a little different from the past procedures, there were no tears, no just in case I don’t make its, just an “oh, here, take my glasses” as if she was jumping in the ring for round 3 of the fight she plans to win.
After the surgery, she looked good. It never fails to make me smile when I see her run her fingers through her hair to poof it up a bit. Jay brought her a care package to help make her more comfortable. It was full of pink accessories designed with the breast cancer awareness ribbon. A quilt, a soft pillow, teddy bear and more (of course, I slept with the teddy bear)… it was just what the doctor ordered. She asked me to take a picture of her with the quilt and pillow and I did but not before confirming 3 times “Mom, are you sure you want me to take a picture?”
I’m tired now. There was no place to sleep last night. You would think that our doctor (you like how I call him “our” doctor?) being Chief of Staff of the freakin hospital would get us some VIP treatment of some kind. But no, no place to sleep and hardly a nurse in sight… it was okay. If this is really happening to my mom, then there was no one I would have trusted with the job and nowhere else I would have chosen to be.
Last week my yoga instructor at the end of class said, “Every beautiful day begins in darkness.” And that’s how felt today. Last night, I went to sleep in a hospital room on five chairs pushed together to be with my mom as she began her recovery from having a mastectomy … AND though it was dark and scary, the sun did come out and it was a beautiful day. I don’t think any of us even noticed but I know eventually we will again, when my mom is all better.
Big Poppa said,
May 9, 2007 at 3:23 pm
Hi Koki, it’s good to see you entering the blogosphere and putting some of your thoughts on “paper.”
Five chairs? You’re not that tall (I know, I shouldn’t talk).
Just wanted to remind you that there are a couple people you see most days that have a pretty good idea of what you, your mom, and the rest of your family are going through. Just know that you can count on our support, whether you need to vent, have questions, need to feel you’re not doing this alone, or whatever.
So how’s the big headed one? No, not your mom after primping her hair. The littlest member of the family … Zoe. Handful, eh? One day, I know you will look back and really grasp how she helped you and your mom through this period. Nothing like a fuzz-ball romping around delivering laughs and unconditional love.
Anyways, just know that you have a support system that extends beyond your immediate family. As you said, “the sun did come out” … and it will come up tomorrow too.
Elliott Goodwin said,
May 9, 2007 at 5:34 pm
Great first post!
Teresa said,
May 10, 2007 at 12:29 am
What a wonderful first post, thanks for sharing your thoughts. You have been there for mom through all of this, you being there has made it easier for all of us, thanks.
Mom said,
May 10, 2007 at 1:25 am
Krista,
We are having quite the experiences together, aren’t we? I agree that the soap opera doctor should have been able to hook us up a little better. Not that I allowed you to get much sleep anyway, needing your assistance from time to time during the night. You did look pretty cute though when the sun shone in on you in the morning, spread across five chairs, holding the pink teddy bear. I won’t mention how quickly you got your make-up out when more people began to stir around the hospital corridors. For the daughter known as the baby of the family (even though only 13 minutes younger than Teresa) and for holding the title of princess all these years, you have certainly come through as my rock, my support, my right-hand, my driver, my confidante, my cheerleader, and my believer of tears, cures, and a healthy future.
Love from Your Mom.