Lorrie’s Blog

I had to laugh the other day when I looked at the nutrition information on a box of Girl Scout cookies.

Incidentally, why is it called nutrition information when the product contains little to no nutritional value? Shouldn’t it actually be called anti-nutrition information? Seems like a truth in advertising issue to me. Seriously, who picks up a box of cookies thinking it might possibly be nutritious?

Any way, for some reason I looked at that little white panel and what made me laugh was the serving size. 4 cookies. Right. Who opens up that little plastic sleeve, takes out only 4 cookies, wraps it back up, puts it back in the box and walks away? There could be scads of people out there who actually have the discipline to stop at 4 cookies, but I am not one of them. Nope, if the plastic sleeve is open, the whole thing is consumed at one sitting. Girl Scout Cookies were definitely meant to be binged upon. I’m sure it’s written in the Girl Scout code somewhere.

As I type this, miracle of miracles, my mom is at home! She is all comfy on the couch in her own living room, opening her cards, surrounded by the beautiful flowers she received while in the hospital. On Thursday, I thought there was NO WAY she would be coming home this weekend. I was sure it would be Monday before they released her. Her quick recovery says so much about the handiwork of our Creator, the thousands of prayers being offered up on her behalf, my mom’s indomitable spirit, and the miracles of modern medicine.

The kidney recipient, Diane, is doing well also. She is being moved from ICU tonight onto a regular ward. There is a very good chance she’ll be moved to the room my mom just vacated! The kidney is functioning just as it’s supposed to be and she is progressing well.

The verse Diane and mom were quoting as they headed into surgery on Wednesday was Psalm 139:14 - 16, “I will give thanks to Thee for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; wonderful are Thy works, and my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from Thee when I was made in secret, and skillfully wrought in the depths of the earth. Thine eyes have seen my substance; and in Thy book they were all written, the days that were ordained for me, when as yet there was not one of them.” How beautifully appropriate for our experiences this week.

I’m always amazed when a professional is right about something. Perhaps I’ve become super cynical because weather people are so frequently wrong. They give professional people everywhere a bad name.

Yesterday mom was a completely different person, just like the doctors said she would be. She was in significantly less pain and they were able to remove all but one of the pieces of medical equipment she was hooked up to. She was awake a lot more of the day and interacted with us on a much more normal level. She had a number of visitors and was in so much better spirits. My aunt, my dad and both of my sisters who live here were at the hospital a better part of the day — we drove her poor roommate crazy.

This morning she called my dad to ask him to bring nail clippers to the hospital because she had a hangnail. He decided if she was worried about a hangnail, she must be doing significantly better. The doctor came in and said she might be able to go home today! There are a couple of things they want to see improve before she leaves (I’ll spare the details), but overall they’re very pleased with her progress.

Today was a tough day for my mom. In addition to being one of the most optimistic and generous people I know, she also has a pretty high tolerance for pain. So it makes it all the more difficult when she acknowledges that she is uncomfortable. You know it’s really bad.

We have been blessed to have some of the nicest nurses ever as her caretakers over the last few days. They are patient, compassionate, responsive — I can’t say enough about how much we’ve appreciated them.

Today mom was in a lot of pain, which meant she was using lots of morphine, which meant she was naseaous most of the time, and very loopy. She did have some moments of lucidity. Once my aunt and dad and I were talking to each other because we thought she was asleep. Her roommate was watching Jeopardy on a TV that was out of my mom’s line of vision (plus she had her eyes closed) and the volume wasn’t very loud. All of a sudden mom said, “Crater.” I said, “What did you say?” Then I heard one of the contestants say, “Crater” and Alex said, “That is correct!”

She is hooked up to so many machines it is hard to count. She’s on IV’s for hydration and sustenance, an oximeter monitors her oxygen saturation level, she has a pump for morphine and a catheter. Patients in a hospital aren’t afforded much dignity. Her bodily functions are open for discussion at any time with any number of people. I understand the necessity of it, but I’m appalled by it all the same.

Her doctors have said that the first day is the worst, that after today she’ll feel like a new woman. We’re all counting on that.

It’s incredibly hard for me to see her in so much pain and not be able to do anything about it. It makes it all the more amazing that she CHOSE to do this, knowing ahead of time that it would be this hard. I bet if you asked her today if she would do it again, she would answer a resounding YES. Amazing doesn’t even begin to describe it.

There’s probably a lot of stuff I’m not good at, but here are some of them:
>waiting
>sitting still for long periods of time (long being defined as more than 5 minutes)
>making small talk with people I don’t know but who know a lot about me
>seeing blood, needles, incisions, and other related items

Based on that list, today was not a banner day for me. Today, my mom donated her kidney to a lady she met a little over a year ago. After months of grueling tests, it all came down to today — one giver, one receiver, two gifted surgeons, lots of worried family members.

Read on if you’re strong of stomach and/or have a lot of time to spend . . .
(There is more where this came from … )

Driving from Des Moines to Omaha is like running the last 3 miles of a marathon. You know you’re moving, but you don’t feel like you’re making any progress.

I am so profoundly sad. A friend of mine at work lost her 14 year old son this weekend. Lost meaning he died. 14. Only a year older than Jeremy. You may have heard about it on the news. He and a couple friends stole a car, led police on a high speed chase and eventually crashed into a tree. He died instantly. His friends, ages 13 and 14, were treated and released. He was driving. 14. He was on the opposite side of town from where he lives and the crash occurred around 1:30 AM on Sunday. There are so very many things wrong with the situation, so very many things wrong with what led up to that night, but what breaks my heart is that tonight a mother sits at home overwhelmed by grief because she can’t kiss her son goodnight. Her eighth grader. 14 years old.