Mortality, My Mom and Second Thoughts

I had Emilee with me this weekend, and as we were cooking breakfast on Saturday morning, I got the phone call that no child ever, ever  wants to get.  As I can’t even think about it much less write about it without wanting to break down, I’ll make it short and sweet.  My mother was in the hospital.  I got that phone call.  They were at the hospital, she was under observation.  Before we knew what was happening, they were rushing her into the operating room for the “procedure”.  They were injecting dye into her heart through the artery in her leg.  Upon seeing her heart, 3 valves were blocked.  One at 99%, the second at 92% and the third at almost halfway.  Angioplasty was performed …  my mom was in the midst of a heart attack.

The good news is that the balloons did their work.  My dad got her to the hospital before any real damage was done to the heart.  The bad news was that I’m one step closer to realizing that my mom is getting older.  I am not ready to accept the mortality of my parents.  I am not ready to lose one of them.  As I rushed around trying to find Emilee’s dad, all I could think was “God, please, please … no.” I bargained with Him, I pleaded with Him and I prayed.  And while she doesn’t read my blog, I need to send a special thanks to my neighbor, Lady Jane, who upon my first phone call was at my door in 10 minutes with her girls to pick Emilee up.  She was the reason I was able to get to the hospital as quickly as I could, and to her, a very heartfelt thank you.

I am not ready.  I am not ready to accept the death of one of my parents.  I am thankful, that on this day, while faced with the mortality of my mom, I did not have to accept it.  She is fine, was released today and is going to start a healthier lifestyle.  She will be tired and sore for a few days, but my mom has years if not decades ahead of her, and for that, I’m thanking God and the doctors that helped her.

The day was such an emotionally draining one for me.  Upon leaving the hospital I sat in my car, wanting to cry.  I held it in, when I could, in the hospital. Seeing me upset would have done no good for my mommy, so I held it in.  As I sat there in my car, my phone rang.  It was my brother, I talked with him; still, no tears.  I sat longer in my car, and called my Irishman.  And he did whatever he could from 2,000 miles away to make the pain go away.  Still, no tears from me.  As I began to drive home, I realized an empty house is not where I wanted to be.  I called PokerMan, asked if he was busy.  He wasn’t and asked what was wrong.  I told him about my day, he immediately offered to come where I am.  I tell him I’d like to come over.  When I got there, he opened the door, and opened his arms.  As I went into those big comfey arms for a hug that I needed, the tears came.  And they fell without abandon.  All the fear, all the horror, everything came out.  And he let it come, all the while hugging me.  When my eyes were empty and dry, he brought me to his couch and sat me down, tucked a blanket around me, and went to make me a martini.  My favorite kind.  I sat there, watching him and wanting to help, but so absolutely drained that I couldn’t do much of anything, I wondered what it was that brought me to his house.  I’m still not sure I can answer that, but I can tell you I was grateful to him for being there, and felt guilty for the way I’d been treating him.  And while I know my Irishman would have spent his afternoon on the phone with me doing whatever he could to make me feel better, the fact of the matter is, I needed something he couldn’t give me – the human touch.  I needed to be held, I needed to lean on someone else for support.  And my PokerMan is here, and he’s the one I went to.  I fell asleep in my PokerMan’s nook, and slept soundly and dreamlessly for two hours.  I eventually came home to my empty house, and it wasn’t so bad, wasn’t the loneliness I was afraid of.  I am grateful to him for that. 

I am having second thoughts about my PokerMan.  I think I need to open my eyes, take a step back from my Irishman (as much as that pains me), and take a good, long look at PokerMan.  He is here, in the flesh, and was there with no questions or expectations when I needed him.  He is cute, he calls when he says he is going to call, he is interested in me and hasn’t ever played any games.  He opens my car doors, and he always smells good.  *smile*  I think it’s time I give to him something I haven’t been giving him – my attention.

My mom was released from the hospital today; and went home tired, sore and ready to get some sleep.  She’s been given another chance, and with that, so have I.

Sleep tight tonight everyone.  Hug those you love close.