The Nana Report

A couple of years ago, Clare and I ran into the sister of a former student of mine while we were waiting for the public library to open.  Jamie and I did the usual double-take before we were sure we knew each other (Me: Holy cow, Jamie grew up!/ Her: Holy cow, Miss Landrum got old!), and we had a fine time catching up on all our news.  As we were chatting away, the young woman who had been sitting next to Jamie joined in our conversation,  and she happened to hop in just as the point when I was describing my dad's health setbacks.  I mentioned that I had spent about a month that fall sleeping in his rooms at the hospital and rehab facility where he recovered from gallbladder surgery to make sure he was OK and felt safe.  And that's when the twit who invited herself into the convo began to complain long and loud about what a drag it is to have to take care of old people.

Yeah, she really did.

Well.  You know what happened next, right?  I straightened that blockhead right the hell out gently pointed out the error in her thinking.

It went a little something like this: "I couldn't disagree with you more.  It is one of the great privileges of my life that I am able to help care for my parents after everything they have done for me.  As a matter of fact, it is a blessing, and one that not everyone receives, and I thank God that I have the chance to show my parents a fraction of the love they have shown me, BY GOD JIM."

"You go, girl! I got your back!"

In the last 3 years, there have been several times when my parents have needed my help - it has made for some stressful patches, but I truly would not have it any other way.  My plan was always for us to become the Waltons and live in a big house all together, but every time I suggest it, my mom starts to twitch graciously declines, so that's out.  Cool Rockin' Mary Alice is fiercely independent, and she likes having her own space, and I don't blame her (sometimes I would rather live at her house too) (don't tell my kids).

So dig, if you will, this picture:

Kind of like if Hannibal Lecter's hand had been the problem instead of his piehole.

While that is not CRMA's actual paw, that is a pretty good approximation of the splint she is wearing on her right hand.  She had tendon repair surgery on March 30, and as it turns out, it will take her about 8 weeks to fully recover, and as it turns out, she's can't drive during those 8 weeks.  You would think that a little Vicodin would be just the thing to take the edge off while dealing with heavy traffic using only your non-dominant hand, wouldn't you?  You would also think that this being-housebound-for-8-weeks thing might have come up in a pre-op conversation with the surgeon, right?  Wrong on both counts.

So God love her, CRMA is being the world's best good sport and doing her hand exercises (ouch) and trying to rely on Advil more than Vitamin V (really ouch) and staying at home unless I play chauffeur (so, so ouch).  

Pretty sure I know which finger she's going to show that surgeon when the splint comes off.