When I was a little girl, I loved watching The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle. This delightful, intelligent cartoon show featured within it a regular dose of &#8220Fractured Fairytales.”

This is not exactly a fairytale - more of a nightmare for my poor mom - but it's definitely is a fractured one.

Mama likes to keep us on our toes every few years by breaking something. First it was her left hip, which she shattered so effectively on the farmhouse's hardwood floor she had to have a super-duper titanium replacement some eight or nine years ago.

Then on September 11, 2001, we were in pre-op at Baptist after Mama took a swan dive off the back porch and did a major number on her ankle. Between the video images of the carnage in New York City and other terrorist sites on that tragic day and the knowledge Mama had been through a weekend of pain waiting for her surgery, I kept thinking: Surely this is all just a bad, bad dream.

Last Thursday, I heard a knock on front door and found the site manager for the Honoraville

Senior Center on my front deck. I knew then it wasn't good news.

&#8220Angie, your mom has taken a fall at the center and I really think she may have broken her hip,” Shirley told me.

And she had. Only, thank goodness, Mama didn't &#8220go all out” as much this time around. No multiple breaks, nothing completely shattered (we are thinking her meds and supplements for her osteoporosis may have given her protection).

At any rate, Mama got to take two ambulance rides - one from Honoraville to Greenville, and another from Greenville to Montgomery and Baptist South, where they hoped to do the surgery Thursday night.

However, a little thing called Warfarin stood in the way; her blood was deemed too thin. The surgery was put off until midday Friday.

Mama is an utterly charming and dear lady, but patience has never been her long suit, not to mention she likes to be in control of any situation.

Friday's surgery (the anesthesia part, anyway) sent her on a long, strange trip that scared my mother half to death.

&#8220I have to get up; I want to get up out of this bed. I am TIRED of this, now - this is the craziest dream I have ever had,” Mama insisted, huffing and blowing and tossing her bedclothes about in a frenzied attempt to break out of that recovery room.

She cried; she pouted. She told us we were terrible for doing her this way.

By Saturday afternoon, my mother was blushing over our stories of &#8220Mama's brain on drugs.”

&#8220Boy, you sure weren't happy with us yesterday, Mama,” we told her.

&#8220Well, I'm sorry,” she said with a bemused little smile, that familiar twinkle back in her blue eyes.

It was good to have her back.

As I write this Sunday morning, Mama is continuing to improve. If all goes well, she will likely be released either Monday or Tuesday of this week and be sent on to another location for some rehab on that hip.

At this point, Mama's got so many plates, pins, screws and artificial parts we are thinking of dubbing her the Bionic Great-Grandma.

Think of the metal detectors the old girl can set off!

All kidding aside, the many prayers, thoughts and deeds of kindness and concern for Mom's recovery are much appreciated by my entire family. Many thanks also to the local EMTs; the ER staff at Stabler's, and the surgical team and nursing staff at Baptist South for their professional and compassion.

God bless you and yours and keep those prayers going.

Angie Long is Lifestyles reporter for The Greenville Advocate. She can be reached at 382-3111 ext. 132 or via email at angie.long@greenvilleadvocate.com.