Friday, March 28, 2008

Grown women are prepared for life's little emergencies.

Yeah, so now my Mom wants to come up for the surgery. She has to be there for me. It's not possible for me to go thru any traumatic event in my life without her there at my side. My mother's model for behavior when her children or grandchildren are in a hospital is Terms of Endearment. "Give my daughter the shot!"
While she does this out of love (and I should consider myself lucky for that), she's going to be sleeping on my couch in an apt with a free-roaming cat and 2 male roommates. Lovely. I already know how much she's going to hate my apt. It won't be clean enough for her. She'll think my roommates are too messy. The garbage doesn't get taken out often enough (and imagine how she'll feel when she realizes that it can only be taken out on Tuesdays and we have no place to store it). Cat hair on everything. She doesn't trust dishwashers.
My sister Kim is coming too. Mom was perfectly content to come by herself, fly up, but without any thought at all to the fact that she can't drive and doesn't know where anything is around here. Hence, Kim needs to come. But, as Kim pointed out, having that pointed out to Mom just aggravates her prior feeling of helplessness about the whole situation. Which I empathize with but really don't have the time to worry about my Mom feeling helpless right now. Have my own problems, thank you. And Mom doesn't want me to worry about it. What she really wants is for me to come to Virginia where she can properly take care of me after the surgery.
Yeah, that's what she really wanted. I kiboshed that. On the phone, her reasoning that I should come home to Virginia was because I'll be too weak to get up my own backstairs after I come home from the hospital. But not at all too weak to hop on a plane and then endure a drive from Dulles to Stafford, and then stay at her house for two weeks, which, by the way, has stairs.
KIBOSH!
Seriously, I don't know what to worry about more, a surgery gone horribly wrong or two weeks with my mom in my apartment.

2 comments:

Rob Hoffmann said...

I'm going to slip into "Dear Abby" mode.

"While you can't stop your mom from coming up to visit, you don't have to put her up in your apartment. It might be easier, in the long run, to put her in a hotel. In Worcester. Or Manchester. Burlington? Albany?"

OK, I kid. Moms overreact. It's what they do. You'll always be 5 to her. She can't help it. It's how she shows she cares, right?

Good luck... with the surgery, the recovery, and the company.

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