The Verdict is In

My mother is now on morphine and stoned out of her mind. My uncle is out there with her, and she's going to surgery tomorrow morning.

The doctor called me and said that it's MRSD. This is the worst possible news at this point. It's a superbug, and it means that she can't leave Arkansas, because there won't be a transport company willing to take her anywhere. She's an infection risk to anywhere she is transported, and the infection has basically taken over her whole body, with the exception of her abdominal cavity. The object of tomorrow's surgery is to try and clean it out of her deep tissue and hip joint area, to keep it out of her abdomen and hopefully stop it in its tracks.

We don't really know what her chances are of surviving this thing at this point. It's terrible, made more terrible by the fact that I am not in control here and I am having a hard time dealing with that.

No matter how much I protest, MRSD is not listening. It doesn't give a shit what I have to say.

And God is beseiged with prayers on her behalf, from JWs, from Baptists, from Pentecostals, from Wiccans and atheists and hippies. Funny how we all sound the same in times like this.

He has not forgotten, Mother. Listen to what he is trying to tell you and know that whatever happens is His will. He is in control, not any of us, as hard as that may be to accept.

*sigh* A person's entire life cannot consist of bouncing from one crisis to another. It can't be possible. Something good has to be on its way, because we've already been through all of the adversity and tribulations allotted to at least three lifetimes.

It's the only thing I can hold on to: He has not forgotten.