patching up the hole

My mom's vitrectomy (eye surgery) is at 5:30 a.m. this morning. It is 1:05 a.m. and I'm bouncing off the walls because I made the mistake of inhaling a full-size Snickers bar at 9:45. Bad idea.

I've been at my parents' house for a few days and haven't been online. So now that there's little chance that someone will call my mother from other continents, I am attempting to check email, twitter and the blogs. On dialup. Dialup in general is very frustrating--Google Reader doesn't even register when you're checking gmail in basic HTML view--so I may just give up soon.

My mom's massage chair-like "Face-Down Recovery" apparatus arrived on Saturday. The delivery person adjusted it for her and showed her how they expected her to see anything when her face is planted into a pillow with a hole in it: A considerably warped "mirror" made of folded plastic that makes you feel like you're looking through your grandmother's bifocals. Horrid. H and I rigged up a much more effective one with a hand mirror, Velcro, electrical tape and my magnetic locker mirror from high school. Nothing's going to keep my momma from enjoying her Hindi soap operas in their full blingtastic-fashion glory.

Unfortunately, despite the badass viewing experience we created, the longest my mom could bear to sit in the chair was fifteen minutes. I even had to sit in it for half an hour to prove that it wasn't the most miserable activity in the universe, after which she accused me of "just saying that to make her feel better."

If you think it's insane that I can't watch tv without doing at least one other thing at the same time, you haven't seen my mother in action. It takes me a full day to accomplish what she does in a few hours. And if you lend a hand in her kitchen and don't hear some form of "move your hands and feet faster," either she's not feeling well or you're not in the right kitchen.

This surgery is supposed to repair the macular hole in the central part of her retina, which could leave her blind if it goes unsuccessfully treated.

During the operation, the surgeon first gently removes the vitreous gel with a procedure called vitrectomy. This eliminates any traction on the macula. A gas bubble is injected in the eye to place gentle pressure on the macula and help the hole to seal. In many cases, patients enjoy functional vision after the bubble has dissipated and the eye has healed.

To keep gravitational pressure on her macula, she has to sit face-down for "23 and a half hours a day for 10-15 days." So it's going to be torture for her to be stuck in a chair/lying-down contraption at the mercy of slower and more incompetent family members like myself. As I've described before, my mom is a nurse who can be a terrible patient. I've compiled a list of people to call when (not if) she gets unruly and doesn't follow orders. Top of the list? My brother, who has more than earned the right to yell at her about these matters. In fact, he can probably employ some of the lines she's used on him during all those months of open-heart-surgery recovery when he was stubborn and rude and cranky and in pain and unable to eat or even drink a thing. I'm sure the reminder of what she's had to watch him go through will be enough to keep her in line.

But in case that doesn't faze her, I'll play my trump card: Reminding her that if she wants to see what those future grandchildren look like, she needs to suck it up and make a full recovery.