Caught in the Whirlpool

Dem Bones: A Riff


  • Last week, my mind was full of Christmas plans and to-do lists, a Gingerbread House decorating party I was throwing, last-minute shopping, a grant proposal deadline.
  • All-in-all, I thought my holiday plans were progressing well; that I was nearly out of the woods as far as stress and hassle and busy-ness goes.
  • Last week, my Mom was going to Zumba, and taking care of her own plans for Christmas.  Wrapping.  Cards.  A party or two.
  • My Dad, too, was focused on his own plans for the upcoming weeks.  Some hobby work he's in the midst of completing; some get-togethers planned with friends. 
  • Tom was winding up a crazy-busy year-end wrap-up kind of month at work; meeting with consultants, finishing employee evaluations, getting ready for a much-deserved vacation - a quiet week at home.
  • Last week, Brian was taking finals and packing up to come home for break; returning his orthopedic scooter and getting the go-ahead to walk without his "boot."
  • And then. . .
  • And then. . .
  • And then. . .
  • My Mom fell off a counter stool.
  • At my house.
  • 911.
  • Paramedics.
  • Emergency room.
  • Ankle fracture.
  • Several days in the hospital.
  • And surgery coming up later this week.
  • In a flash, our plans changed.
  • Immediately.
  • Intensely.
  • Now, my home is full of medical equipment.
  • My Mom is full of painkillers.
  • My Dad is settling in . . . down in the lower level of my house.
  • For the duration.
  • My Mom needs a "team" of support right now.
  • Brian is a trooper.
  • Tom is a wonder-man.
  • And I'm trying my best to keep it all together.
  • Dem bones. . .
  • Dem bones. . .
  • Dem . . . dry bones!
  • I'm becoming all too familiar with orthopaedics.
  • (My poor Mom. . .)