Steroids! Steroids! Steroids!

Late in the afternoon yesterday, after my mom's phone was charged and Lisa was finally able to be present in the room with the doctor while he consulted my mom -- which, p.s. took some serious tenacity.  Way to go Sis for chasing that doctor down! -- I was able to chat with my mom a bit on the phone.

She sounds awful.

But, she's feeling a little better.  Better enough to slow the morphine drip.  Better enough to have a conversation (though short and slow and staggered).  But, mostly, better enough to joke with me about all of the steroids they are giving her -- orally, intravenously and through breathing treatments.  We laughed a little that by the time they were done with her she'd be able to compete with my youngest brother Quinn (the body building football player that weighs in at 250 lbs. and could take down a horse).

She is still in the hospital.  The doctor won't let her go.  He told her, while making a tight fist, that her bronchials looked like this but that they are supposed to look like [his hand in an open circle with the tip of the thumb and pointer finger touching] and that he wouldn't let her go home until her airways have opened up a bit.  It's hard work.  I can hear it this morning.  She's tired.  Nurses and blood pressure and breathing treatments and white blood cell counts and IVs and bells and whistles.

I'm just thankful we have phones -- and a sense of humor.