My mother, the BAT (Barbara Ann Tate) got a total knee replacement for Valentine’s Day. Fancy, schmancy, it was made especially for her, crafted in Switzerland.
Last night, I stayed with her in the hospital. As expected, there wasn’t much sleep. A shot of Benadryl straight into the blood stream provided incoherent rambling. She yammered non-stop about various friends (Minta, Jimmy Gann, Becky Sue, Bob and D’Lynn Irby), strawberries, Mexico, a gravel road, Jobber applications, playing marbles, and deleting ‘sloppy’ Facebook friends.
She explained to the young night nurse all about ChristianMingle.com.
At one point she looked toward the side of her bed and said, “Gabby, are you ready to leave? I’m about ready to check out of here.” Gabby is her cat…
At midnight she said, “I think Dr. Taba is running late. Guess I’m not having surgery today.”
By the end of her rant she declared, “I’m changing my name! I’m sick to death of being called Barbara Ann Creecy Tate.”
At 1:30, she turned on the television to distract herself from the knee pain. Thankfully she slept.
My dreams were fitful, coated with television background noise about the stranded Carnival cruise ship. All night long. Ask me anything about it, and I can tell you.
Overall, we had a triumphant night. Momma and I survived to see the new day, and the cruise ship limped to shore. She hasn’t told me her new name yet, but I’ll keep everyone posted.