We Are Who We Are: Mom's Surgery Part II

So there we were, just the four of us. That is a very unusual thing. Once you grow up and get married and have kids it is very unusual to be alone with your mom and dad and brother. Family means something new once you get married and procreate. Mom and Dad especially pine away for being just the four of us, but it is not reasonable. We are not a family of 10. Sure, they really love their four grandkids and the in-laws are growing on them (read my sarcasm on this point), but their very own kids are still the apple of their eyes. They want us to themselves. They probably really want us to just shrink back into our fourth grade selves and live at 348 Washington St. with them.

Being the four of us felt so comfortable. We sat in an empty hospital wing in vinyl recliners, which would be set aside for patients on a weekday. Mom was the only patient, so we could all put our feet up. We were all our regular old selves. Mom was worried about germs and refused to tell the nurse her weight within our earshot. Dad, Jake, and I all chewed on the skin around our fingernails. Jake was dressed in his usual hip getup. Dad was talking about people he saw at his Florida conference who he knew from a number of obscure places and times and connects with in his easy way. At different times all of us--except for mom--took naps. We prayed for Mom and the grandkids and Philip and Miranda who were with the kids. We called the people who needed to know what was going on. We all tired up and got silent a couple of times. Humor also reigned. We are funny people and can crack each other up so we laughed a lot. My dad got a few of the medical details confused. I read my beloved fluffy magazines.

Mom had her surgery and it was successful. The retina reattached, but she was in bad shape for awhile (I'll spare you the pukey and pain-filled details). I stayed for a couple of days and coached Dad on how to take care of Mom, Jake and Miranda took their family back to Chicago, and then Aunt/Nurse Liz came and helped Mom out.

The thing that I keep coming back to is that we are who we are in crisis. With the hurricane and this little family emergency, I have seen it again and again. In crisis we are the same people we were the day before the crisis. After the hurricane, Rick, my father-in-law still said dollar as "dalla" and tomorrow as ta-mah-ra and hearing him say those words were still music to my ears. After my mom's surgery she was still trying to accommodate me and make sure I was relaxing enough (while I was supposed to be helping her) and I wanted her to stop worrying so much. In crisis, we rise to the occasion and we may grow and change, but essentially we are the same people who are irritated by the same things and who eat the same foods and who need the same amount of sleep. This is somehow comforting to me.