Not liking animals and having to ask for help are my two biggest personal shortcomings. A scheduled foot surgery put me in the precariously vulnerable position of asking my mom for an extended amount of help.
She arrived the night before surgery as planned. What wasn’t planned was what happened once the doctor got to work in the operating room. I’ll spare the gruesome details, and leave you with the moral: I was supposed to be out of surgery and “walking” on my foot the same day. What actually happened is that I would not be allowed to bear weight on my foot for 10 days to 3 weeks.
The impossibility of using crutches while living in a studio apartment up 50+ stairs from street level crushed my anesthesia addled brain.
I now needed 100x more help. And I needed hair 100x longer to throw out the window for visitors.
Wait. It was just me with the mobility deficiency.
In the recovery room, in the PT session (on how to use crutches), climbing those 50+ stairs (on my butt), in my studio apartment, in my bed with my foot elevated, I was smashed low. Mix in some tahini and I’d have made a tasty hummus.
Saying thank you 15x per hour didn’t feel like enough because my mom handled every task, every single task with cheer, efficiency, and grace. She consulted with the doctor, chatted with the nurses, took embarrassing pictures, walked by my wobbly side, let me sleep, made meals, fetched beverages, and patiently waited upon the patient. The mental and physical exhaustion crutches leave in their wake were monumental. We were both down low together despite the top level apartment location. Me with my limited mobility and her because solidarity is what mothers do.
Mothers’ Day came early for me in that my mother arrived when I needed her most and showcased her dazzling abilities. Perhaps we’ll celebrate with one of the three containers of hummus in my refrigerator.