Poor Mummy

I've written before about what a lil' pistol my Mom is. She's 93 pounds of pure spunk. Lately she's had some strange health stuff going on and to make sure everything is OK, she's going to have a small surgery. What she's having done isn't major, she'll be out of the hospital within a day or two and she should be fine. But you wouldn't know that if you were to poke around in my head and listen to my frantic, freaked out, alarmist thoughts.

I can't even bear to think about my Mom not being here on planet earth. I can't talk about it without getting really upset. So the thought of her having surgery just about sends me into orbit. I know she'll be knocked out and won't feel a thing but I wish so badly that it could be me getting sliced on rather than her. I don't want her to hurt one little bit.

I watched her nurse try to start an IV which was a failure and it pissed me off. I wanted to drop kick that nurse and put her in ICU for having to poke my Mummy a second time. Mummie's arms are teeny weeny and her veins are so tiny, they're like a baby's. Why couldn't they poke mine? They're nice and fat and juicy (my arms and my veins).

See how my hand and arm are so much bigger than hers? Look at all those juicy veins I have! You can't even see hers! And that wicked nurse used a regular people sized needle on her rather than a preemie baby sized needle. Another reason I should drop kick her!

The hospital fashions being offered these days are OK...for her. A size small gown will go around her about 4 times so I don't have to worry about her being cold. And the hospital she's in has a nifty blanket warmer so she'll be nice and toasty.

I was visiting with her before her procedure and her spirits were high (which made me feel better). We were laughing about how big her gown was on her and how small she looked in her hospital bed when the transport dude showed up with a wheelchair to take her to the surgery suite. The funny thing about it is that the chair wasn't a regular sized wheelchair. It was a super wide, super sized wheelchair which was probably for 400 pound men, not 93 pound ladies. We all got a good chuckle when she sat down in the chair because she just about vanished. Even the transporter dude laughed.

I'm sort of glad the gentleman showed up with such a huge chair because it helped break the tension. Hours later I got a call telling me that everything went wonderfully and that Mummy was happily snoring away and doing fine. Rather than worrying about IVs in her arm or the procedure she had, I think I'll laugh at the sight of her riding in the monster wheelchair. I swear, she looked just like the picture above - or maybe she looked a little smaller. Either way, we laughed at it a lot. I'm so glad everything is going to be OK. I need my Mom to stick around for another 200 years.