Indelible Marks

I’m currently finishing my book called Indelible Marks and seeking an agent.

Here’s an excerpt…

“Lis, this is Dad. Mom’s in the hospital.”

 

I don’t hear his words at first. His tone draws my attention. I immediately know something very bad has happened, and I can almost feel the adrenaline squirting into my system, fueling my pounding heart.

 

My brain has to take baby steps to process what Dad’s saying. While Mom’s health isn’t great, it’s always been Dad who seems to have the worst medical problems: a kidney stone the size of a small boulder, the removal of which necessitated his being sliced almost in two; back surgery for a pinched nerve, which reduced him to getting around by crawling on the floor; emergency quadruple heart-bypass surgery; replacement of his aorta due to the presence of a huge aneurysm ready to blow; a couple of gastric obstructions caused by surgical adhesions; and, finally, removal of part of his esophagus and stomach because of cancer. How could Mom top this? She’s only had a mild heart attack, a hysterectomy, and mild symptoms of COPD.

 

When my brain catches up and Dad finishes his statement with “Mom’s got a brain bleed,” this doesn’t seem to fit into my mother’s medical repertoire.

 

“They took her to Kettering Memorial. The guys at Clinton said they can’t handle what she’s got. They tried to transport her by helicopter, but you know Mom. She said no. She said, ‘If you put me in that thing, you might as well kill me!’ ”

 

“But I thought you said she couldn’t talk.”

 

“She came around to say that.”

 

Typical Mom: scared of everything. The helicopter trip would have cut the forty-five-minute journey down to twenty minutes…enough time to make the difference between life and death. But she chose to stay on the ground.

 

It occurs to me that this might be the last time Mom makes sense.