My Turn

I didn't get to attend my little brother's first communion because I was sick. Yep, that's me in the chair all covered up. And missing one of the few times my little brother Mark ever sported wings.

Forty-nine years later, I'm still laying around in a big chair all covered up...and recuperating from pneumonia. This started coming on a week ago, but got really bad Thursday night. I think that's when the pneumonia set in. I missed making 14 batches of strawberry jam, but thanks to Mom and the hubby, it's made and in the freezer. It's a funny feeling to be laying around like a slug while others are doing your work. I had the same feeling when, as a kid, I'd hear the vacuum cleaner running early on Saturday mornings. That was all the alarm we needed to tell us to get up and help Mom clean up the house. (To this day, I can't stand to hear the cleaning lady at work vacuuming--I feel like I should be dusting or something.)

I think today's the turning point. My temperature's down to my normal 97.something. I can breathe a little deeper, even though the wheezes, squeaks and rattles are still there. My mind is coming out of the fog I've been in, and I no longer feel like I'm halfway between this world and the next one. The doctor's orders include staying home from work for the rest of this week. I'm hoping I'll feel good enough in a day or two to tackle some housework (ok, now you KNOW I'm sick).

Mom just called to see what I needed from the store. All I need is a loaf of bread and some vanilla ice cream. Thought I'd make a strawberry shake since I still have some berries in the fridge. My little bro Mark said he makes his shakes with our strawberry jam, and that sounded pretty good. I'll just claim I have a sore throat and need the shake to soothe the ol tonsils. Nobody will call me a liar, since I'm sick.

Thankfully, I had my mommy to take care of me while I was sick. I don't know why it is, but no matter how old a kid gets, when they're sick they want their moms. I guess that's because it's mostly the moms that took care of them when they were little. Mom was always there, no matter what time of the night. My dad slept through all those kid illnesses, and so did my husband. Just nature's way, I suppose.

Thanks, Mom. I love you.

A Shocking Turn of Events

Friday afternoon I was sitting in the waiting room of my chiropractor when I got a text..."Is Mom with you?" I texted back to my little sister, "No". Within a few seconds, the phone rang. Occasionally I have a sixth sense about things. I know the phone call did not carry good news; but I knew it would be ok.

First there was some small talk, then silence. I knew that silence would be followed by some jarring news. With her voice cracking, she said, "Mark's on his way to the hospital". She told me he was having problems with his heart; that it wasn't beating correctly and the doctor sent him to the hospital. I told her I had several friends with the same problem and it would be ok.


Mom and I headed north Saturday morning. At the hospital, Mark seemed pretty good--even with his chest thumping in crazy rhythms. The lines on the monitor zig-zagged with no regularity. When he stood, his pulse would go up to around 150. He was having some pain in his shoulder blade radiating to the front. And he was having problems walking without being able to catch his breath.


He admitted to having this problem for the past 15 years. About once a year, his heart will go out of rhythm, but will return to normal after four days. This time, the doctor wasn't messing around, especially with Mark's lightheadedness.

Sunday, Mark's heart was still not beating correctly so it looked like the "shock" would be a go for Monday. His doctor came in to see him and I asked if we could watch, or even hit the button for the big shock. No go. We'd have to sit in the waiting room. I even told the doctor of my experience shocking Mark with our electric fence. Nope. That didn't even work.

This morning, Mark had just been taken back by the time we arrived at 8. We'd been there earlier if we'd known, but they couldn't seem to be able to tell us what time they'd come for him. So we kept Mark's wife and daughter company for a couple of hours.


Finally, an Indian doctor came and told us that he did great. No blood clot, and it only took one shock to get the ol' ticker beating in rhythm again. He took us back to see Mark, who was being wheeled back to his room. Mark started in with his usual sick humor, telling everyone within earshot that he was clinically dead for five minutes and expected to go to Heaven. Instead, he went to hell and was greeted by Saddam Hussein. I asked if he saw the 72 virgins. He said he did, and there was a good reason they were all virgins.


Typical Mark.

In wrapping this up, I need to thank The Big Man above for watching over my little brother. Looks like we'll have him around a good long time to torment and tease. We'll expect the same in return.

Just like old times...except no more knock-down drag-out fights that were common between me and Mark. Now it's just hugs and "I love you's" between teasings.


Love you, little brother!