It’s true — she’s incredible. Saturday afternoon, she came home and sat on the couch with a big sigh of relief and a lingering smile. It was a classic frying pan/fire situation. We busted her out of the noisy hospital and brought her home to a house full of kids (well, we’re mostly grown by now, I guess) and a bathroom in transition. Restful, huh? I suppose the hubbub you know is better than the hubbub you don’t know.

Bottom line: Mom’s home and doing well. And none too soon — the hospital food was awful.

Dad’s posted a few images from our Boundary Waters expedition. Start here and work your way backward.

Water is magic that is susceptible to gravity.

Dad and I went to visit Mom in hospital today noon-ish. She looked pretty good. Well, pretty good considering somebody took her left leg off, lopped off a chunk of her femur, jammed a titanium spike with a ball on the end of it in there, then chiseled a place for a nice, plastic cup for said ball to pivot on and then sewed her back up. Damn good, really.

Dad and I came in as she was talking with her nurse. (Nurse: male, 5′9″, 250lbs. — looked like he could benchpress me. I had him pegged for the physical therapist until I noticed his name tag said RN.) Thus started the conversation about the procedure and about just how necrotic her hip socket had been. (It’s a Really Good Thing she didn’t wait longer ’cause the doc said her joint was really bad.) From there we went to talking about the blood supply to that hip joint and how there’s a vessel that actually goes through the head of the femur to supply blood to the inside of the joint and how that vessel must have gotten blocked for a bit at some point and that’s what caused the problem. Avascular necrosis. As he was talking about that I was thinking about how fascinating it was and how amazing our bodies are and how cool a solution that was to the “how do I get blood there?” problem…

And then my balance started to get a little weird. Mom (the woman who just had surgery yesterday — I think moms should be sainted, but that’s another Gullet entry.) turns to me and says, “Are you okay?” just as I feel all the blood drain out of me and the tunnel start to come around. “I feel a little weird,” was all I could manage as I let myself be directed to a chair.

I nearly fainted while listening to someone describe a really fascinating bit of our bodies. How embarrassing. I blame the necrosis. I have no idea what necrosis of the whatever actually looks like, but as soon as I hear someone utter the phrase “avascular necrosis,” all manner of cthulian visuals start playing in my own imaginative theatre.

Über icky.

On a happier note, I just got a call from Dad. They’ve moved her out of osteo and into the rehab wing, so things are sailing along nicely. Yay Mom!

There, it’s done. I’m 31. Now this august angst can fuck right off, okay?

And here’s my birthday present to all of you:
my favorite photograph of Philly circa 1993 or so. From me. To you. With love.

[Update: 7pm]

Awwww!

Barfday greetings! How sweet — thanks!

Peter: Happy birthday to you, too! And thanks for the link. Didja know we share a birthday with Carrie-Anne Moss? Rowr!

Bob: Yeah, “thirtyone-derful” does sound kinda gay. But we all know better.

Everyone else: Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Dad called a few minutes ago. He had just spoken with the surgeon who told him everything went well. Mom will be back in her room in about an hour with her fancy new hip.

Breathe a sigh of relief with me. I’m glad things went well. Not that I was nervous, really — well, yes I guess I was nervous. I’m just glad everything went well.

I’ll be able to stop in and see her tomorrow.
(more…)

What, exactly does a “country lemon” smell like? It doesn’t smell like the country. And it smells nothing like a lemon.

It smells like toxic waste.

Why does my dishsoap smell like toxic waste?