Mamaw

My grandmother - Mamaw - turned 91 on August 28th.  She lives in Arizona and it pains me that we don't live closer.  She's well cared for by Dad and Mother, so it's not that I'm needed.  I just miss her.

I traveled to Arizona on Thursday to visit her for a few days.  I usually stay with Mamaw in the assisted living apartment where she lives.  It's very nice and comfortable, but she takes so much rest now and is easily confused, I decided to stay at Mom and Dad's this time.

My Papaw died in June of 2007 at the age of 90.  He had Alzheimer's and passed relatively peacefully.  He and Mamaw had lived apart for a few years due to the care he required.  Mamaw visited Papaw faithfully a couple of times a week until he died.  Over the past year when I would ask Mamaw if she missed Papaw she would respond honestly, "No.  Not really."  This visit when I asked her, she seemed to miss him.

Things I want to remember...

Hair and Happy Hour - We went to Mamaw's hair appointment Friday afternoon.  She enjoyed having her hair washed and head scratched.  With the confidence and mood boost a fresh hairdo gives any girl, we walked to the lobby for a piano concert and Happy Hour.  The pianist finished the set with Sentimental Journey, and we all sang God Bless America.  Mamaw's neighbor Lou (87) kept trying to kiss her.  She turned her head each time and told me he was trouble.  Lou told me he wished I was younger so we could "do things together".  I told Lou my husband wouldn't like that.

Dinner with Lou - Friday evening we shared a table at dinner with Lou and a new gal, Kaye.  Lou struggled to play both ends against the middle with Mamaw and Kaye.  He sat between the two ladies and his head went left to right, right to left.  Lou told me one of his grandsons had recently been there per instruction from his father.  The 25-year old grandson said to Lou, "Dad says you need to go to the bank.  After that Dad says I need to take you to get some pants."  Lou said he made it to the bank and got his pants, but he thought it was ironic that the grandson was driving his truck.  Lou's keys had been confiscated recently - something he didn't protest.

Lipstick and a Nap - When I arrived at Mamaw's on Saturday afternoon with beer [she requested a few beers for her refrigerator even though Lou repeatedly said he had plenty and she could come by anytime] she was asleep on her couch, still in her nightgown and robe.  She remembered some of our day together Friday, but needed help to find the memory.  I encouraged her to get ready for dinner - which takes a while - then I stretched out on her couch.  I slept lightly for about an hour as she puttered in and out of her bedroom and office, covered me with a quilt, looked at me, mumbled, "Now what was I doing?" all while carrying her lipstick.  (She doesn't go anywhere without it.)  I enjoyed watching her with one eye while I rested.  I finally got up and encouraged her to put on her lipstick so we could go to dinner.  "Okay Doll!"

Dinner with Gretchen and Louise - We shared a table with Gretchen (90) and Louise (87) on Saturday evening.  Apparently there'd been a "falling out" with these girls a week or two prior, leaving some hurt feelings.  I'm still not clear what happened.  Gretchen very gently and sweetly passed Mamaw something on the table under her hand and said, "I'm glad you're back.  I save these for you every night."  They were the croutons from her salad.  Mamaw looked at me and said, "Gretchen doesn't like croutons, and I love them."  They smiled at one another and held hands a moment. ... Louise was quite chatty through the meal, very nice actually.  I overheard Gretchen complain to Mamaw that Louise monopolizes the conversation every time they have a guest.  Mamaw agreed.

Why I Don't Have Little Girls - After dinner Saturday night, Mamaw and I were making rounds in the lobby, visiting with some residents.  A pretty, petite woman wearing a pink cardigan, using a walker, joined a conversation Mamaw and I were having with four other women.  They were asking me about my three sons.  The woman in the pink cardigan spoke very loudly and cheerfully, "You have no girls?"  No, I said, just the boys.  "You didn't move in bed!" she said.  I raised my eyebrows.  She continued, "If you want girls you need to move a little in bed.  You obviously didn't move."  A bit embarrassed, I said, "My grandmother's standing right here..."  She said, "Whether or not you move in bed has nothing to do with your grandmother Honey."  Oh.  Thank you.

It's never easy saying goodbye to Mamaw.  I feel so loved.  She squeezes me hard, pats my rear, kisses me sincerely and shamelessly on the face, then wipes her red lipstick off my cheeks.  She tells me to be careful and be good, and blows kisses as I drive away - not moving - until she can no longer see me.

Whatever you call it, it feels real good.

I thought I was so clever a couple days ago.  I was explaining to Chris how fulfilling it was to receive acknowledgments on comments that I'd left on other people's blogs.  I told him how crazy I felt walking past the PC, checking a blogger's comments string to see if they'd noticed mine.  Was it acknowledged?  If it was, was I spanked, stroked or given a benign response?  Regardless, I was telling Chris, that a few bloggers, not all, give me this rush of relief or completeness when I've been acknowledged.  Like, OH that was good, I can release that now. Anxious anticipation - poof - resolved. I said, it's like a blogasm.  Hey!  Maybe I can blog about that feeling!? 

I know it was naive to think I'd coined a new word and definition for something that's been around for several years now.   But c'mon.  Throw me a bone.   I googled blogasm this morning.  Been done - used and defined many ways - most of them involving reading erotic blogs.  (I'm no prude, but not what I'm talkin' about.)

It's embarrassing to know that certain bloggers (and it changes) have the power to caress me so.  Gives me an ahhhh when I'm acknowledged.

I was visiting Mother and Dad while on a break from college one time.  Mom had been attending a new yoga class at their racquet club that she said I just had to try.  That in and of itself is a story because although petite, trim and attractive, Mom is not an exercise person - certainly not an aerobics or yoga person. 

She said, "It's amazing.  The best part's at the end.  After we do all that yoga crap, we lie on our backs with our eyes closed.  The instructor moves quietly around the room and touches every person on the forehead.  It feels. so. good.  I'm not kidding Chrisy.  You just tingle all over."

We got in our goofy pink and white leotards and 80's leg warmers, tried not to snort-laugh through the class - neither one of us are flexible and the earth muffin teacher (no offense - I love earth muffins - I try to be one) was over the top new agey, even for me - a college coed who was pretty much trying everything at that time.

At the end of the class the lights were dimmed and our sounds of nature music was softly playing.  Mom and I were lying beside each other, eyes closed, on our backs - relaxed...  I felt the instructor near us (maybe I smelled her, can't remember).  She obviously touched Mom first, because after she touched my head and I tingled, I slightly opened one eye and glanced at Mom.  She dramatically mouthed, "See?"

That's how my blogasms feel.

It was a nasal surgery, NOT a nose job. (Well, maybe a little bit of a nose job.)

I saw my surgeon on Friday.  When I started this blog in May [2008], I was sitting in this chair, typing on this keyboard with a nose cast, several dozen stitches inside the nose, a few on the base of my septum and a couple dozen behind my right ear.  The stitches have been removed and my nose is much better, although a little sore and still too fat.  My ear is freakishly sensitive.  I didn't know before I agreed to the surgery that my ear would basically be removed and reattached to my head [exaggerating, but only a little].

The surgeon said he can't believe how beautiful my nasal anatomy is on the inside, and that due to the complexity of the surgery, swelling might not resolve entirely for 12 months.  That means May of 2009.  No family photos for the Christmas card this year.

I've always had a strong nose with a bulbous tip.  Not my most attractive feature, but it was mine and I'd mostly accepted it.  Mostly.  Two years ago I was convinced the bulbous tip looked much larger than usual.  To make this story short and blog readable, I wasn't imagining it.  Turns out I had a long, fancy name for something like "hair lip" of the nose.  My bulbous tip was growing and it was affecting my breathing.  [Note to my friend T:  Yes T, I was motivated because of aesthetics, but I had a legitimate medical condition.  So there.]

I decided to have the nearly six-hour surgery.  I wanted my nose to look softer, but not alter my basic appearance.  I also wanted to sleep on more than my right side - the only side that allowed me to breathe.

Mother said, "Now you know... you must refer to this as a sinus surgery in front of the boys, or the entire school and neighborhood - the world really - will know you're having a nose job."  She was right.

"Yea.Yea.  You're right.  Good thinking Mom."

She emphasized the importance of not using the words "nose" or "job" ever! while referring to this surgery in front of the boys.  She's so smart, I thought.  But, it wasn't really a sinus surgery...

While visiting the surgeon for pre-op, all of his nurses and surgery coordinator people kept referring to me as the "nasal surgery" patient.  Perfect!

"Boys.  Mom will be having a nasal surgery to help her breathe better next week.  I might look bad, and I'll be in bed a few days, but I'll be just fine, so don't worry.  Any questions?"

Oldest Boys asked, "Will they make that ball on the end of your nose smaller?"

The surgery went fine.  [Reality:  the most painful, nightmarish experience of my life.]  Chris was a very good nurse, and the boys didn't seem phased.  Toddler Child kept saying, "You hurt you nose?  You hurt you ear?"  A large piece of cartilage from my right ear was removed and grafted to my nostrils and septum - a detail that was greatly downplayed during consults.

Someday, when there's no fragility attached to the experience, I might post some photos.  I call the initial post-op pictures the Nick Nolte mug shots.  They're real pretty.

Most people who love me have pacified me with the term "nasal surgery".  Except my friend T.

When Chris' grandparents were here only four weeks after my surgery - T called after the visit.  "So.  Did the grandparents know about your nose job?  How did you hide it?" 

I said, "It was a NASAL SURGERY.  Yes, they knew... and I look fine, no hiding necessary."

T laughed.

I'm going to visit T soon in New York - I can't wait to see him.  T can't wait to see my "nose job".  This Dorothy surrenders.