Jackie Oh'Cleaver

Well folks, one of our very own isn't doing so hot.

Jackie O - aka, "Mama'sMama" is in the ICU right now after suffering from a brain hemmorage.  (Gosh - I so don't know how to spell that word.)  It's in her right temporal lobe and her blood pressure has been insane - but I'm looking at her right now and she's peaceful and sleeping.  I think, when all is said and done, Jackie O will be O-cleaver-K.  

It was shocking to hear that your 55-year-old mother, who just babysat your kids and made you dinner the night before (after spending the day with you at IKEA and celebrating her birthday) had a seizure and had to be put on a ventilator.  

I've thought a lot the past few days about that ventilator.  At first, I was just mad at it. I thought she didn't really need it and if they'd just pull it out, we'd be a step closer to recovery.  I convinced myself she didn't actually need a machine blowing anything into her and this was melodramatic.

Then they tried to remove the ventilator and she couldn't breathe on her own.  Suddenly, my entire perspective changed hearing my brother say, via phone, that it didn't work. I now loved that ventilator and wanted to thank it for all it had done.  Thanks for every break you gave her, Vent. Thanks for every bit of energy you saved her that her body could use to heal another area.

Yesterday, I came in and met the vent head on. I figured, alrighty - if you're here to stay - I will know you well. I researched how to read it and what each of the many numbers meant.  Me and Vent were homeys.  I wasn't scared of it anymore.  I knew it - it knew Mom - we were kosher as a New York deli.

Today, the vent is gone. And, while I can't say I'm grieving its departure, a certain part of me is even more scared. I'd learned the vent and what it meant. Now I have to learn how a feeding tube works and worry about the unidentified infection.  There's worry about if she'll recognize us (she didn't recognize me, yet) and when or if she'll go back to work. Heck - her just sitting in a chair tomorrow scares me and I'm scared for anyone within ear shot when she gets a wind of what they have done to her naturally-red-hair-that-gets-slightly-refreshed.  That won't be pretty, my friends.  Her hair is an art form - and they've taken a mallet to a Michelangelo.

I hated that vent - and then I appreciated it.  And isn't that the way with trials sometimes? You can hate them as you are going through them. And later, you can almost wish them back as they'd be easier to wrestle then your new worry.

I was just writing on another blog recently that my life is good right now, but you never know when that will change. Life hasn't always been easy for me or for my family. I feel no guilt anymore when my life is happy and full and drama-free. There are so many of these cruddy-ventilator-kinda-times, and it's a satisfying thing to appreciate the goodness when you have it. 

Having your mom have a stroke isn't fun.  You start to get excited for the very little things - like that she opened her eyes and that she was able to say she's hot.  And you start to wish for your own ventilator that would breathe energy and life, patience and strength through you. I think in this case, prayer is as close as I can get.   Although I still think I'll ask for a valium.