tea tree oil

Tea Tree Oil will forever remind me of the day of my mom’s surgery.

I watched my alarm go off that morning at 5am and woke my mom. She went to the washroom. Normally, we get up fairly quickly. But nerves were setting in. I probably should have gotten her up earlier. I scolded myself as I peeped my head out – she was still in the washroom. 5:10. 5:15. I got Sean up. We needed to go by 5:30. I definitely should have gotten her up earlier. 5:20 rolled by. Still nothing. 5:25 – I knocked on the door. Sheepishly she opened it with her hands full of broken glass.

“I broke a bottle of tea tree oil. And I can’t find all the pieces.”

The smell was potent. My eyes immediately began to sting. I could see the oily residue all over the floor.

“Is this what you’ve been doing all this time? Why didn’t you ask for help?”

I could feel myself getting upset. Her sad eyes met mine and then looked down at the floor. I told her to leave it, rinsed her hands, grabbed her overnight bag and bundled everyone into the car. It wasn’t until we pulled out of the driveway that I saw her pants. And her shirt.

The tea tree oil had spilled all over her. And she reeked.

I mean REALLY smelled. But there was nothing to do at that point. We were late. We all rolled down our windows and raced towards the hospital. We checked her in and sat in the waiting room. Patients in blue slippers and blue gowns stared at us. One particularly deaf man announced that something smelled. We nervously burst out laughing. I sat with my mom until it was time to go. She cried a little about losing her uterus. We talked about feminists who define women by their sexual organs. Uterus holders. She considered her new title ‘gaping void’. Moments later, she was rolled into surgery. I brought my phone, an iPad full of movies, two books, some magazines, and colouring books to entertain myself. I don’t think I picked up any of them as I sat in the waiting room. It was sterile and calculated. A soft brown on the walls. An elderly volunteer at the desk. Families huddled in corners. I watched as surgeons rushed in, talked quickly, and then rushed out. My phone buzzed as friends and family all checked in to see what was happening. I ignored them and focused on that door. Finally I took a bite of my 4 hour old everything bagel.  And then, of course, there was my mom’s surgeon. At first I barely recognized her draped head to toe in blue hospital clothing. But then I saw her face.

“The surgery, actually, went really, really well. I think we got it all.”

I don’t really remember what she said after that point. Everything I read said my mom’s prognosis hinged on how well the surgery went. And it went well. It went well. My breath deepened, and I thanked her. Just then I became acutely aware of all the poppy seeds stuck in my teeth. Sean grabbed my hand, and we got up to go see my mom. As we walked past the room where I had waited with my mom so many hours ago – a familiar smell hit my nostrils.

Tea tree oil.