Cataract Surgery Part Two

My mother had cataract surgery on her left eye about 4 weeks ago. I was the designated driver, which sounds easy. However, the other part of being the designated driver is being the "dad babysitter". You see, my dad has Alzheimer's, so when my mom is away from him he gets even more confused. He doesn't really know that my mom is his wife but he does recognize her as the person he lives with and the one who takes care of him. So-he didn't really understand why she was being wheeled away on a gurney and why he was stuck with me. On a good day I am his sister--on a bad day I could be anyone. When my mom had her first eye operated on I took my dad to the cafe on the 1st floor of the hospital. While we were eating he kept asking me what year I was in school. So, he thought we were in a college. On the upside--he thought I looked young enough to be a college co-ed. On the downside--he needs cataract surgery too so it wasn't much of a compliment. To my dad I probably look like Barbra Streisand in "The Prince of Tides" where the camera lens was obviously covered with Vaseline. She looked almost pretty--except for her huge nose. I tell you...that woman has a genius make-up artist.

But I digress...as the day went on I tried to explain that we were in a hospital waiting for Mom to come out of surgery. Then he would say, "You mean....our mom?" and I would say, "No...my mom, your wife." He would then say, "Oh. I know. I know." Then we would eat a few more bites and he would say, "So...what year are you in school?"

By the time Mom came out of surgery and we could go in the recovery area I was a little frazzled. When the doctor came in to talk to me about my mom's recovery I was glad to talk to someone normal. However, the first thing I said to him was, "So, when does my mom get her parrot and her bottle of rum?" (Hello! It was cataract surgery.) I'm sure he was hesitant to send her home with her confused (to say the least) husband and her obviously drunk daughter. (I was pretty focused on that bottle of rum.)

Anyway, the left eye healed in 4 weeks and it was time to do the right eye. I was again the designated driver, but because the surgery was last Monday I had to take my two daughters with me. (It's summer vacation. Yippee!! That means the kids are home all the time. I love summer break even though I have days when I ask myself why school can't be year-round. For example, today Bronte locked the keys in the Durango....while it was running....with my purse and cell phone inside. Luckily we were in the driveway at the time but Tony had to come home from work to unlock the stupid thing. He pulled up to find me in the driveway with my head in my hands muttering, "Gas is almost 4 dollars a gallon. There goes 30 bucks.") So last Monday the girls and I set off to pick up my parents and take them to the hospital for Mom's right eye to be sliced open and an implant put in. No kidding. That's what they do. After surgery is over the doctor gives you a card to carry in your wallet that states that you have an implant in your body. I have no idea why, but I told my mom to tell anyone who asks about her implants that she had a boob job.

Well, I was a little nervous about spending the day in the hospital with an 11 year old, a 6 year old and an 81 year old with Alzheimer's. I told the girls to bring their Nintendo DS's and prayed all the way to my folks house. (However, we all know God isn't listening to me right now because I got kicked out of Bible Study.) After we got to the hospital and they wheeled my mother away we all headed down to the cafeteria. What a nightmare. My kids had no idea what to get and were milling around like moving speed bumps. Brenna finally decided she wanted chicken fingers but was too shy to tell the guy behind the counter what she wanted so she just stood there holding up the line and looking at me beseechingly. My dad said he wanted a sandwich, but those were all the way on the other side of the cafeteria. I headed over to Brenna and ordered her chicken and decided to get my dad a hamburger while I was there because it was easier. Believe me, he was perfectly happy with it because he had no idea what he told me he wanted in the first place. Bronte was just standing in front of a big display of cookies and I was starving but didn't want to wander around to see what was available for fear my dad or my 6 year old would get lost. By the time I made it to the cashier I had two trays full of food. $23 later we made it to a table. Lunch went pretty well, although Bronte said the pizza was disgusting (it was) and my dad couldn't figure out how to eat his burger. (I had to pick it up for him and place it in his hands. I could just cry thinking about it. I mean, this is the man who threw about 8 billion pop-flies in our back yard so I wouldn't be afraid of them when I played Little League. This is the man who took me to see Oscar Peterson and The Chicago Symphony and Pearl Bailey. Now he couldn't even navigate a burger...)

So, we made our way back up to the waiting area for Day Surgery. The girls were playing their Nintendos and I sat my dad down on a couch next to a table covered with magazines. He can't read anymore, but he likes magazines. I started to do the crossword puzzle in the Tribune and a few minutes later the doctor came out to talk to us. He said the surgery had gone well, but they gave her a little bit more anesthetic because when he did her other eye she jerked awake half-way through. He told us we could come in and see her so my dad put down the magazine he was reading (Working Mother) and we traipsed back to recovery.

To say my mother was a little out of it would be putting it mildly. When we came into her curtained area she was telling the nurse that graham crackers were severely under-rated. "People always think...oh, it's just a plain graham cracker, it's no good....but they're really very tasty!" When my dad saw her he was very relieved. He walked over to her and held her hand and rubbed her arm and asked her how she was feeling. Considering that my father was never very affectionate or compassionate before he got Alzheimer's, I was very touched. Plus, he and my mother had quite a lovely conversation at this point. It went something like this:

Dad: How are you feeling? Is your arm all better? (Keep in mind that she had surgery on her eye and was wearing a big eye patch)

Mom: Yes. Much better. When can I mow the lawn?

Dad: (pointing to the IV bag) That's an antenna. Now you can talk into the box.

Mom: I did. We are going home in a big SUV.

Dad: How is your arm? (Rubbing her arm and holding her hand) I better go get the house ready.

Mom: Want a graham cracker?

Dad: I'm glad you're ok. Where are we?

Mom: Carolyn drove us here. We'll all go home together.

Dad: I need the keys. When are you coming home?

Mom: Right now! I didn't have any coffee today.

I tell you, it was the best conversation they've had in 7 years! My mom didn't get frustrated with my dad and my dad didn't get agitated because she didn't understand what he was talking about. I just sat there grinning, watching my children play Nintendo, oblivious to what was going on while my parents had a truly tender moment. Too bad neither of them remember it...

God save us all!!

Did I tell you that I have officially been kicked out of that stupid Bible Study? It's true. I was basically told that I had too many unexcused absences and that I probably wouldn't be placed in a discussion group next year. I really wonder what they consider "excused" absences. One of the women in my discussion group had a nephew die last year and she went to the wake on the Thursday morning of our study. So...I wonder if she had to bring in a copy of the death certificate or something to have her absence be "excused"? The woman I am talking about here was REALLY into this Bible study, so I'm sure that she was conflicted about whether to attend the wake or the Bible Study. She was a devout rule follower too. She was always on time, always had her lesson done completely, never talked about anything personal and even expressed remorse over being overweight because she was desecrating God's creation. She even had us pray that she could control her food better. (I wanted to say, "We can pray for your lack of control all you want but what you really need to do is shut your damn mouth and stop stuffing it with food." I have no patience for people who whine about being fat and then go to McDonald's for lunch because they "can't control themselves".)
Speaking of prayer concerns, I never actually prayed for any of those people. I wrote down what they wanted us to pray for and then never looked at it again all week. I know that's horrible, but I just didn't feel right praying for what they wanted us to pray for. I mean, I didn't want to pray for someones Jewish friend because she was going straight to hell because she didn't believe in Jesus or for this one woman in the group to be able to give herself completely over to God's will so that she could be submissive to her husband. God would have known I wasn't sincere. You can't fool the Big Guy.
In any case, doesn't it seem like my entire discussion group should be BEGGING me to come back? I'm a wayward Christian...they should be saving me! The next thing you know I'll be listening to Justin Timberlake and watching Will and Grace reruns on TV! The horror! I mean, we were all supposed to go out and convert the Jews and spread the Good News far and wide, and here I am, a veritable bird in the hand, and they are KICKING ME OUT!! What the hell? Don't they see that they have a real opportunity here to bring me back into the fold? I think they ought to kick out all the pious know-it-alls they have in there now and come to my door and tearfully apologize for letting me down last year and create a discussion group just for people like me. You know, people who think that we ought to leave the Jews alone and that homosexuals are just born that way and should be allowed to get "civilly unionized" and that it's okay to read non-Christian texts. In other words, normal people.
Speaking of homosexuals...on the third page of the Chicago Tribune yesterday there was a huge article about a group that converts gay men to straight men. I had to read it because I am just fascinated by the idea that homosexuality is just a sin like any other sin. It's not a way of life, it's just a sin...like lying or murder. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't it say in the Bible "Judge not lest ye be judged"? Who are these men that are leading the group? I don't know...but this one guy in the article said that he was a husband and father to three most of the time but every once in a while he just had to spend a couple of days in a gay bath house to get the gay out of his system. Really? In any case, he went to this group and now he is totally straight! Imagine that. I wonder if his wife was in my Bible Study?? Now there's a prayer concern I could have really latched onto...except I would have been praying for the gay husband to see the light and leave his wife and live the life he wanted to live. Anyway, one of the leaders of the group said that the men trying to "go straight" weren't allowed to exchange phone numbers or email addresses because if they got in touch with each other and "stumble in their walk in their recovery" well, that would be BAD. Ha! Ha! So, in other words you can't use the group as a way to hook up with other men. The leader that said that has a lesbian daughter, it stated in the article. She probably met her girlfriend in one of her father's stupid meetings. Either that or she really is straight and is pretending to be a lesbian so she doesn't have to talk to her bigoted father ever again.
So, anyway...I'm done with that Bible Study, unless they invite me back (reluctantly, I'm sure) in the fall. I'll keep you posted. It'll be fine if I don't get back in next fall though. I'm going to be busy finding these "don't be gay anymore" groups and holding a sign that says "Promoting Self-Hatred is NOT Therapy" and handing out t-shirts that say "You're here, You're Queer, Get Used to It!" I think that if I can even convince one man that it's OK to be gay then it will be time well spent.

I don't do windows either...

Well, I guess there is a time and place for everything, like my Welsh friend says. You see, she read my last entry and felt compelled to tell me that "There's a time and a place for everything," isn't just a Welsh catch-phrase. It's actually true! I asked her, "Well then, what is the time and the place for that woman in our Group Power class to be wearing her very tight, very short shorts?" Okay, get ready for this...her answer was, "Well, you know, if she were at home and she was dusting or something and her husband was watching..."
I almost died laughing! It reminded me of the movie "Chocolat" with the ever fabulous Johnny Depp. Remember how the chick that ran the chocolate shop gave the fat housewife whose husband wasn't interested in sex anymore some candy to give him that would act like brown Viagra? Then in the next scene she is cleaning the bathtub and her husband comes upon her bending over the tub and does the little "PePe La Pew" dirty chuckle and we are to believe that the sight of his wife's humongous ass made him all hot and bothered? Well, that just made me picture this woman in her little shorts with a feather duster bending over to dust the coffee table while her husband sits on the couch reading the sports section. I can see her wiggling her butt as she dusts and her husband playing right into her hands. Then I see her triumphant look as they head off to the bedroom and she thinks, "Yep, I knew these shorts would do the trick..."
Okay, there are so many things wrong with this scenario that I don't even know where to start. First of all...just the fact that my Welsh friend thought of the dusting-in-front-of-her-husband thing makes me wonder what she wears when she does housework, or if she has some sort-of "naughty maid" fantasy. Secondly, if I was dusting and my husband was sitting on the couch watching me I'd be so pissed off that he certainly wouldn't be seeing any action. I mean, what the hell?? Like he couldn't be mowing the lawn or something productive like that? Thirdly, if you think that gray, tight short shorts are going to turn your husband on while you dust then you don't know all that much about men. Go to a costume shop, get a French maid outfit and wear really high black patent leather pumps and red lipstick and then do your dusting in front of your husband. I bet that would work every time. I wouldn't know, personally...I never dust.