Looking out my Backdoor: An update on Sondra's surgery, and some poems

I’m writing to you today from warm and sunny Glendive. Mom had her hip repair surgery on Thursday, the 26th. Merry Christmas!

The post from her original hip replacement had slipped down into the bone. The doctors knew this and knew they could fix it.

After opening her up, while she was still awake (with a nerve block), the doctors discovered the slippage was worse than they had thought. The metal post was grinding and eating away the inside of the bone.

Mom explained how the surgery felt to her. She reported the room was comfortable, music in the background and cheerful chatter. There were never any moments of ominous silence and “whoops,” so she was thankful for that. Mom said it felt like they were trying to pull her leg off. She likened the experience to “being on the rack.” The good news is mom’s legs are both the same length again! The bad news is the bedridden part.

Mom has two weeks minimum bedridden. The doctor said it was possible it could be four. Then she gets to go through the grueling task of physical therapy. Mom is really super super-excited about physical therapy after her muscles atrophy in bed.

Mom came home to a house full of love from her neighbors. The neighborhood has divvied up her care and meals while she recovers. Mom wasn’t quite expecting it to be this long and difficult. And painful.

Mom has no clue how long it will be until she can sit up at her computer and send these herself. In the meantime, I will tag team write with her to keep her stories coming. Today it will be poetry as she’s kind of not into writing. Mom may take a while to respond to anyone who writes, but when she is able, she will respond. Mom loves hearing from you all.

Mom wanted me to share a couple of my favorite poems.

Stories

I grew up in isolated

North-eastern Montana.

Everybody knew your story.

I sneaked out of CYC and drove

Dad’s car, crammed with friends,

Up and down Main Street.

Somebody told my Dad,

Better keep a tight rein

On your filly there.

When my baby died,

Women from a hundred miles

Came to me, held me,

Cried with me, told me,

I lost a baby too.

Paradoxically,

In isolated communities.

There is no privacy.

Today I live in Mexico,

On the edge of a rural village.

I live by myself. In solitude

I find strength and beauty.  

Now and then, I feel lonely.

Nobody knows my stories

Alders Rained

Alders rained leaves

From the sky

Like tears rolling

Down my cheeks.

A leaf caught

In my eye, shattered

The morning with gold.

I love you,

I said aloud.

And the world

Bowed at my feet.

——

Deborah “Dee Dee” Robart for Sondra Ashton