At the speed of life...

Cliche's....it comes down to cliches..."In the blink of an eye". "Time heals all wounds". Think of one, I'll live up to it at some point, as we all will.

The ankle is, "for all intents and purposes", healed. The foot attached to it, on the other hand, is taking its sweet ass time getting back to normal. It swells, it hurts, I lose my balance standing. Yesterday, a loud pop followed by a sudden burst of "YEEOUCH!!" struck the outer joint of the ankle and probably set me back a day or two. And all I was doing was sitting and waiting for...
News on my mom. She went into the hospital to have her mitral valve replaced. Dr. came out to us after over 4 hours in the OR to tell us (me, dad, my siblings), that everything went very well and they were just cleaning her up and bringing her to ICU. My sister's and I went down to greet mom's siblings who'd just arrived. In that short time, mom coded. They revived her, brought her back to the OR and re-opened her chest, checked everything and rechecked and found no organic reason for her, as they called it, "event".
Six hours later, we were told we could see her in a few minutes. Dad, not wanting to wait for a nurse to escort him, went to see mom. It was the first time in 29 years I saw him break down crying. Unprepared for what he was about to see, the shock of reality's cruelty hit him. "You can't tell her from the sheets, she's hooked up to all these machines...." and he walked out sobbing.
We got her nurse to come in and talk to us all, to explain to dad that it is "normal" to see what mom now is. I had discussed this with my sisters and brother before, having been warned by someone whose parent also went through it, but dad wasn't prepared.
It was our turn to go in. Mom looked "dead", but there was steady breathing, aided by machines. The monitors, 4 of them, all had smooth rhythmic rainbows of lines, her life functions simply broken down to colors moving in waves. Tubes attached to every corner of her frail body helped her, helped the nurses. My sister and I stroked her hair, talked to her loudly to reach her innermost subconscious; I teased that she needed her eyebrows pencilled in, but "Ya look good, Mom. Hair looks fine". Mom always stressed about her hair. "Critical, but stable" they called her.
I went up to her doctor, still there from the morning's surgery 11 hours ago and shook his hand. "I want to tell you a quick story about my mom" I said.
"A few years ago, while taking Pacerone, on a cruise she caught a virus and lost the use of her legs and fingers. She was told that with intense rehab, she "Might" get them back in 2 years. It took her 15 months. She is stubborn and that is who you have in there."
"Good", he replied. "I like them to be stubborn." We left and had dinner, but Dad went straight home.
This morning, my sister called. Mom had a good night and can open her eyes when told to.
In the blink of an eye.....