The Moo Moo Diaries Part 2

Dear Readers, let me start out this post by saying thank you. Your emails, texts, phone calls and Facebook comments about my last post have meant so much to Kenny and me. This is a tough subject and it was heartening to know that so many of you understand and/or have been there yourselves. Your words of wisdom, humor and support are truly appreciated.

Thank you for your good common sense suggestions and the reminders to hang in there.

And thank you, too, for understanding that although she is “difficult” and “dramatic” and “feisty” and all the other buzz words people have always applied to my mother, I try to understand and forgive her.

So it will probably come as no surprise when I tell you that I am taking some personal time off.  This will be my last Letter From Elba until Sunday, April 24.  As my heroine Nora Ephron says, “Everything is copy,” and I need to gather my thoughts- and some fresh material.

Tech Note:  I know.  I know.  My Comments sections has mutinied and made it difficult to post comments.  Especially from iPhones and iPads.  (People using desktops seem to have any easier time of it.)  We are working on isolating the problem.  My sincerest apologies.  I know you want to post comments.  Believe me, I want to get them.  I like them better than the posts.  Hopefully by the time I return, this glitch will be fixed.

And now back to Moo Moo…

Wednesday: Day Three Post Op Moo Moo’s Hip Surgery.

Our day started off with a bang.  I tried calling her early this morning and there was no answer.  I was puzzled.  She was completely bed-ridden yesterday.  Where could she have gone?

Kenny cleared the whole thing up.

It seems that last night, Moo Moo had called the Deerfield police four times from her hospital bed.  The nurses then confiscated both the hospital phone and her cell phone.

She wasn’t a happy camper.

This morning she was still so riled up that they finally knocked her out.  Peace once again reigned on the third floor.

When Kenny and I got there, Moo Moo was still out like a light.

“We can wake her up if you’d like,” said Deb, the sweet nurse.

“Do you have a gun and a whip?” I asked.

She laughed ruefully.

“Yes, we had to give her a big injection,” she admitted.  “She was very agitated.”

Kenny and I conferenced briefly.

“Don’t wake her,” he said.

And then we tiptoed into her room.

Poor Moo Moo.  She looked awful.  But on the other hand, she wasn’t in pain and she wasn’t suffering.

(And neither was the hospital staff.)

“Better let her sleep it off,” Kenny said.  “Let’s hang here for awhile and see if she wakes up.”

I put her crossword puzzle book on her tray table and we tiptoed out and went to a lounge around the corner.

Periodically I’d go in and see if she was awake.

Nope.

She had been tased, bro.

And the nurses were pretty sure that she would NOT be going to the rehab facility tomorrow.

“She’s a little behind in her recovery,” said Deb.  “I doubt that she will leave here on time.”

Thursday: Day Four Post-Op

As Deb predicted, Moo Moo was not moved to the rehab facility.  She did look much improved, however.  When we got to her room, she was sitting in a chair, nibbling at some lunch and checking on the stock market.

All good signs.

One tiny problem.  She thought she was going home tomorrow.

“No, you’re going to rehab tomorrow,” I explained.

“I don’t want to go there.  I’m going home,” she pronounced.

“You can’t walk,” Kenny said wearily.  “You have to go there so they can get you up and going again.”

She didn’t seem to believe us but we didn’t push it.  After all, she’ll find out sooner or later.

Friday: Day Five Post-Op

Moo Moo was moved to the rehab facility.  (I could hear a collective cheer go up on the third floor of the hospital.)  Kenny and I drove out to see her bearing good wishes and some clothes.  (After all, she had fallen wearing a nightgown.  They just might have to dress her at some point.)

We found her sitting in her bed and rarin’ to go.

“Where were you?  I called you five times! That other place stunk!  What is this place?  It’s nicer than that other place.  Why didn’t you put me in here first?  Where’s my Sun Times? Where’s my ice cream?  Where’s my mail?  Turn on the tv!  What’s the channel for the stock market?  Get me the ball game!  Sit in that chair! What’s my phone number?  Get me my purse!”

There was more.  I’m just too anxiety-ridden to remember all of her never-ending temper tantrum harangue.

For Kenny and me it was SNAFU.

Situation Normal All Fucked Up.

But for Moo Moo it is now FUBAR.

Fucked Up Beyond All Repair.

We stood it as long as we could, Kenny had a brief talk with her nurse while I tried to distract her with pleasant conversation and then, exhausted from the visit, we split.

Dear Lord, give us strength.

Saturday: Day Six Post-Op

9 a.m.  I just called her room at rehab.  I hoped to find out how she was doing and if they had started physical therapy yet.

9:05 a.m.  I just hung up with her.

And on her.

9:06 a.m. I texted Kenny.

“Just hung up on Moo Moo when I said, ‘Mom, you’ve just got to be patient’ and she snarled and screamed ‘AW SHUT UP!’  She hates the place already.”

9:08 a.m. Kenny- an emoji genius- texted this back.

I have tried to tell the truth here.  It’s not pretty and not politically correct to say you have a depressed and angry mother who always makes trouble and is not lovable.

But I have to admit that there was one area in which my mother excelled and I’ll forever be grateful to her.

She had enormous confidence in me.  She always made me feel that I could do ANYTHING.  And in times of trouble and heartbreak- like now- her indomitable spirit still takes me over.

“You can do it!’ she’d always exhort me.

No girl ever had a bigger cheerleader.

(Well, maybe this one did.)

See you on the 24th.

Love, Gypsy