Barely awake, my mother lifts her nightgown and exposes a large sausage shaped lump on her groin. "I found this last night in the shower." I'm speechless, and release giggles instead of sobs. The doctor sees us immediately, and confirms it's an inguinal hernia. In my father's hospital room she starts to wretch. I leave his bedside and retrieve a plastic bowl in time for her to spew putrid, green bile. She's convinced she has food poisoning from the salad she ate the day before. Nerves, bad greens, the hernia. I don't know what to think as I try to care for both of my parents. All I want to do is giggle; certainly this isn't happening. I take my mother home and contact friends to check in her. I return to my father who is getting weaker, and more jaundiced. His highlight of the day, is teaching the nurses how to give the perfect shave. My mother has a consultation with the surgeon tomorrow at the same time my father starts chemo. My gallows humor is kicking in. I find this all absurdly comedic. My life in LA is light years away. Trying to conduct conference calls and respond to emails through out the day has been challenging, but staying in contact with my life at home reminds me that this too is temporary.
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