Get in line, bitches...

Coz everybody wants a broad with a big ol' Frankensteiny gash across her throat.

There's a titanium plate and six screws in there, too. Hott.

I fly home on Thursday. I hope the hardware sets off the airport metal detectors.

A brief hiatus from the hiatus

Today is the seventh anniversary of my mother's successful lung transplant.

Here in sunny southern Utah, we celebrated with cake and ice cream. Then I whupped her ass at Scrabble a couple times.

It's difficult now, remembering the time that led up to the transplant. She was sick and suffered for many years, and had maybe three months to live when she got the lung. Another family's painful loss was the miracle we'd been waiting for. I've never been able to sufficiently describe the conflicting swirl of emotions that stirred up. I won't try again now.

Even more difficult is imagining what life would have been like these past seven years without her. She's almost 70. She's raised her kids, done her duty, and more than earned her retirement. She lives with aches and pains and medication regimens that would leave the average person crying in a corner. In spite of all that, she's spent the last couple of weeks caring for me day and night, feeding me, bathing me, holding my hand when I was scared and in pain, worrying about me, and making it all better. She's still my mom, and would not have it any other way.

Over the past seven years, we've managed to work out our issues, stop fighting, and become friends. When I'm at home, we talk on the phone every day. We make each other laugh, and we finally trust each other. I tell her nearly everything. Had you borne witness to our relationship ten years ago, you'd know that this is a whole 'nother miracle, in and of itself.

It is truly mystifying, the things that time can do. Whether these years have been borrowed or bought or stolen, I don't know. All I know is that we've been extraordinarily fortunate to have them, and that I am immeasurably thankful. Helen loves her mom, y'all.

Okay, hiatus on.


PS...I'm doing okay, slowly getting better. Photos of my gnarly scar pending.

I appreciate all of your kind wishes and emails and phone calls and dirty jokes and whatnot. That sort of stuff is remarkably helpful when one feels like crap. Thanks kids.