But I have to back up to begin this story. In January, just 4 days after we had been informed by the birth mother in Alabama that she would not be placing her baby, I was talking to my Mom. I was still in my self-pity stage and then she threw what little sanity I had left into a tailspin. She had a lump in her breast and had just found out that day that it was probably cancer.
"What?" you say. Why didn't I mention any of this before? Well, because that's what my Mom wanted. She is an ER nurse and she doesn't like a lot of fuss. So I had to live with this knowledge and not tell a soul.
So today, after weeks of chemo and learning to love wigs, my Mom had a mastectomy at VCU Medical Center. She is doing fine. She was in her room by 1pm and demanding a Diet Coke. So, there, proof that she's fine. She still has radiation to go through. But the tumor was barely visible during her last round of scans. Fingers crossed. So this is not a sad post. It's one to celebrate my mother surviving cancer.
My Mom and I have the greatest relationship. We have the same sense of humor, and it has really helped us get through these last few months. One of the things we love the most is people watching and the color commentary that goes along with it. You know, like on a cruise ship and you see what some of the ladies are wearing to dinner, and one turns to the other and says, "Did she look in the mirror before coming out here?" I know, we are both going to hell for it, but at least we can keep each other company.
Today, at the hospital, it was an environment rife with people watching and other dark humor. She would have loved it, but alas, she was the one in the operating room. So I have an itch to scratch and here goes.
First there was the old guy on his laptop who had some kind of electronic gadget first beep then strart buzzing. I kept looking over at him thinking he would hear it. And then he had the nerve to look at me reading my Kindle and rudely demanding I turn it on mute. Oh, he picked the wrong morning to try me. I informed him the noise was not coming from me and then he got called by a nurse. As soon as he walked away, the buzzing noise stopped. Imagine that!
Then there was misery guts lady. I heard her not once but twice tell anyone who would listen about every ache and pain she had-and she wasn't even the patient. She was waiting for her husband's surgery to be done. I wisely avoided eye contact lest having to hear her recite her list of afflictions for a third time.
Then there was witnessing the amazing job the surgical department must do everyday. They really have it down to a science. It was pure pandemonium when we arrived at 5:30am. They were calling patients names. Everybody sat down on one long wall with their families. There had to have been 30 or more people there. Nurses would take patients back and return later to summon the family. Dad and I went back to sit with Mom before surgery. All the team players came in and gave their little talks and then it was go time. There were at least 10 pre-op rooms on the corridor we were on. When we left, each door had a full surgical team ready to spring into action. We were dodging gurneys trying to get back to the waiting room. I told Dad it looked like pit row at Daytona. Dad said, "Gentlemen start your engines!" Good one, Dad.
And then there were these things.
The waiting area was so big, they have to give people these pagers. It would go off when they needed you to come to the reception desk. I was describing them to Mom and I told her, yeah, just like your favorite restaurant, Outback Steakhouse (wink, wink). But that's a story for another time.
Oh, and I almost forgot. I got to speak to Mom's doctor after the operation. His name is, wait for it, Dr. Bear. Dr. Harry Bear. LOL!
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