Page 60 of A Really Bad Idea

Our attention is diverted to Dr. Gallagher Sr., who is walking up to Dad with his hand out for a handshake. Dad stands up, and Brian and I walk over to them, neglecting the coffee that is being poured in the machine.

“Procedure went well,” Thomas starts. “We have the arrhythmia under control. It’ll take a few days to see if it holds. I got a look at the mitral valve, and there’s a significant leak. We’ll set up an appointment for her to meet with Christian.”

“How much longer do you think the valve can stay, leaking like that?” Brian asks.

“Six months. Maybe a year. Meadow will tell you, a leaking valve can sustain itself for quite some time. The good news is, she’s doing great. You can see her now.”

Dad, Brian, and Thomas exchange good-byes and manly pats on the back. I let him know I’ll see him in the office. First, I have to say hello to my mother.

We walk to the recovery room, a large room with a nurses’ station and where patients lie in their beds, some behind curtains. Mom is in the farthest bed, toward the back of the room. A nurse is blocking our view of her as she takes Mom’s blood pressure.

We take slow steps up to her, not knowing what condition we’ll find her in. To our surprise, she’s smiling.

“There’s my beautiful family!” Mom raises her right arm toward us as a nurse unwraps the blood pressure cuff. She tells the nurse, “This is my husband, George, and these are my babies, Brian and Meadow.”

Brian huffs at the fact that our mother is still referring to her thirty-six and thirty-three-year-old children as her babies. “You look great, Mom.”

“That’s what everyone says! They look at my chart in shock. It’s like they expect me to appear like I’m dying. If I had a dollar for every person who told me how good I looked, I’d be a millionaire!” She laughs loudly as the nurse enters the information into the computer.

“Looks like the procedure went well,” I say with my hand on her leg, grazing it over the sheet.

“I’m just excited I woke up. I get so nervous when they put me under. Meadow, honey, there was a dreamboat of an anesthesiologist in the operating room. Ronald. He’s Korean and single. I gave him your number.”

The nurse looks at me with an awkward glance.

I turn to Mom and explain, “That’s sweet, Mom, but I’m one hundred percent sure Ronald would be more interested in Brian.”

“How so?” No sooner does she ask than her mouth forms an O as she comprehends what I mean. “Oh. Well, it doesn’t matter. If he calls, go out with him. Gay men make the best husbands.”

“Mother!” I admonish.

She closes her eyes with a flick of her hand. “Your sex life dies down after twenty years, so it shouldn’t matter if you’re gay or straight. All that matters is, he has good teeth.”

“And doesn’t look like a yeti,” Brian adds.

I squint my eyes at him even though he’s right. Brock was scruffy during the mid-season.

“I’m starving. Am I free to go now?” she asks the nurse, who gives her the okay. “Who wants Chinese food?”

“Careful getting up.” Dad grabs her arm as she sits up on the bed.

She swings her legs around and makes it to the edge. Then, she pauses. Her hand goes to the top of her head as she lets out a groan.

I rush to the bed and brace her in case she falls back. “As excited as you are to get out of here, you need to take it easy today,” I say, rubbing her back as she gains her bearings. “Go straight home and order takeout. I don’t want to see you back in the hospital ’cause you overdid it.”

She grabs my hand and rubs it between both of hers. “You’re right. I’ll spend the day in bed, eating egg rolls.”

“Good plan.” I grin.

“And watching a Meryl Streep movie. Daddy has such a crush on her.” Her comment makes him blush as she kisses his cheek. “We can watch that one with Alec Baldwin and Steve Martin. Where they get divorced and have an affair with each other.”

Dad lights up. “It’s Complicated.”

“What’s complicated about watching a movie?” Brian asks.

“Dad’s chick flick,” I explain.

Brian still looks confused. I offer to explain while we let Mom change out of her hospital gown.