Home, in a figure of speaking.

It's midnight and I'm just finishing up the tail end of my household chores. Since Mom's first surgery, an emergency appendectomy, last Wednesday, I've slept all but two nights on a hospital cots. The thin, spring-riddled mat was most likely borrowed from some wildly underfunded prison in a third world Asian country, yet for some reason I slip into an abysmal slumber while laying upon it. Truly, this baffles me. And beyond that, it guilts me. Each night I have pep talk with my subconscious, pumping myself up to wake at least each hour. I want to be up to check on my mothet. But, in spite of my best intentions and the stiff coils of my cheap cradle, my body falls into a hypnotic trance. As my mind travels through the comatose Land of Nod, I dream the same continuously loop of actions -- just the desire to wake up and care for my mother.
In no way do I want to make this blog about me, but rather, just my earnest concern for my mother. While an appendectomy is a relatively common surgery, Mom's endured many complications on her path to recovery. Most appendix patients are children and young adults, it seems to me, so maybe her golden years are a disadvantage. Then again, she gets around ten times as good as most 20 year olds, so who knows. Her ailing body has battled infection, extraordinary pain, vicious sleep deprivation and a list of other nagging afflictions. After several days of sickly regression, she seemed drowning in a sea of hopeless despair. But, on Tuesday the surgeon performed a laproscope to tie down and correct the sneaky offender reeking such havoc upon my momma's body. It turned out to be a kinked intestine.
Though Mom was essentially back to square one in the surgical department, Mom's optimism and faith was restored when the doctor said the problems should be fixed.
And, honestly, for the first few days after the second operation, they seemed to be. Now that I've briefly skated around the situation's overview, I can go back to the achy place I started -- the hospital cot. Now don't get me wrong, I've longed for my fancy bed like the some long, lost lover. But, I've jumped from this cot as though it were a heavenly bed of massaging clouds each morning. My body, I suppose, knows its well-being is the least of my concerns.
Though the rickety old pallet has been more restful than I anticipated, I also didn't think I would miss it when I got home. But, now that I'm back, my family is asleep and most my chores are done, I find myself yearning to be back in it. Since I left the hospital, Mom has developed a few new complications. Don't get me wrong, none of them are big, just something that will keep her a patient of Great Plains Regional Medical Center a day or two longer. However, with that on my mind, I wish I could will myself back in that cot, in the shadowy corner of my mother's room.

Momma, get well. You are the NaNa-iest NaNa of them all. (Yes, I know I just made up a word. Eminem does it all the time and he's no whiter than I am.) And, to all our friends and family who have said prayers and sent well wishes to my mother, thank you. The concerns and love of such an eclectic group of friends is a true testimony to my mother's goodness. Thank you!