No. 9 ... No. 9...

My mom had her ninth back surgery today. Nine! At this point, they should just put a zipper in to get to her spine - spare her some of the agony. :-( She's doing well, blissed out on morphine. I got to spend some time after work with her and she seems to be in good hands at the hospital, which is important. The doctors *think* they solved most of the problems she's been having, which if that's the case, would mean she won't have to use her cane to walk anymore. Crossing fingers, toes, eyes, whatever. For her sake, I really hope things improve to that point. Did I mention it sucks getting old?

My dad barely said two words while I was there. I get the impression he was dying to ask totally inappropriate questions like "do you talk to my sister?", "when are you getting a raise?", and my current fave "do I need to get the kneepads?" - a reference to his wanting to ask M to ask me to marry him. Ah, family... I'm just waiting for him to tell me to call my own sister so I can tell him not only have I called her, but I've emailed, too, and heard nothing back. It's such a weird situation, I really don't even have words for it anymore.

At least mom and I have been working on our relationship, and as she seems to be the most amenable of the holy trinity, I may have a foothold to eventually developing a better relationship with my dad, too.