The Mama, as some of you dear readers know, is in her nineties. The tiny, fragile, slow-stepping Mama is doing well, thank you very much for asking. She's as fit and magnificent as the flowers and vegetables that she grows. The only medication she takes is for her thyroid. I can only hope that I haven't screwed up the genes she gave me too awful much.
This morning, I found a poem that I wrote about the Mama two years ago when she was rushed to the hospital. The Mama is amazing.
The Sleeping Mama
Slipped into her ER room.
She was fast asleep,
Hooked up to the IV, heart monitor, and oxygen.
In one moment,
she could not move
no matter how hard she tried.
And, she tried, and kept trying, to stand up.
"Walking pneumonia," the doctor said.
What did she say?
"This is going to cost me a lot."
I'm participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge this month. To check out other participants, click here. See you tomorrow.