I drove home on Sunday to be with my mom. She needed another surgery on her wrist to remove the screws that her body is now feeling quite resentful of. I felt such nerves the entire day, hoping to God that my mother wasn't so incapacitated after the cutting that she might vomit and/or require a sponge bath. I'm a nurturer, but I nurture with food. This is not my speed.
Mom walked into the out-patient facility promptly at 7am this morning (which she declared was still the "dark hour" at which no human should be required to function) and got all scrubbed up and hopped up on Valium, or some similar blabber-mouth drug. I delighted in watching my mother comment on the doctor's cold sore and declare he must have been in a bar fight all while smiling along at what must have been, from her perspective, a drug-induced version of the Muppets. :)
Her post-surgery procedures took longer than the actual surgery. The doctor assured me, as he tornadoed past, that she was fine and the surgery was successful. When I finally got to view his masterpiece, he was in another surgery and my mom looked like she taken a quick nap before a shopping day. This was nothing like the scene that was described to me after her first surgery. She smiled and said, "Hi. I'm kinda light-headed, and my arm is like play dough." This was a good sign.
She is now resting comfortably next to a warm glass of apple juice, a bottle of water, and 17 remote controls. This time around the incision was not at all invasive and after taking out the two little screws without incident (which now sit in a plastic bag on the counter for memory-sake), mom seems like she could be in the Wrist-Surgery Olympics (Team Cyst).