Friday, July 17, 2009

And Now, Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Program...

Hi. I'm sorry I've been away most of the week. Recently, I've been very good about posting regularly and loving it. I think when I tell you what's been going on, you'll understand.

My Grandma had a heart attack Wednesday evening. She was playing Scrabble and started feeling pain and nausea and her nose began running (I didn't know sudden nose running was a sign of a heart attack...did you?) and one of the guys in her Scrabble group smartly got some help.*

She ended up leaving the nursing home and going to the hospital and she's still there. She's lucid, joking, eating and not having any pain or discomfort. Essentially, she's "fine." They are doing more tests today and after that will know how much damage has been done to her heart and what the next step should be.

Steinvic is coming home tonight (Thank G*d) and my Aunt is on her way into town and we will all take our turns loving on my Grandma this weekend, as we always do.

There, see, Self? That wasn't so hard to sum up into a nice, neat package for your readers, was it?

Oh, there is so much more to say. So many thoughts and feelings. But, this is one of the occasions in my life where I switch into "job mode."

Do you have a job mode? It's where you put your own feelings, wants, whims, urges and needs aside and kick into auto-pilot, only job mode is even better than auto-pilot because it only allows you to do exactly the precisely right thing that a perfect being would do in a terrible situation.

So, if someone told me to fly to California and back to hand pick a special berry that my Grandma liked and return within the day, I'd be like, "Okay!" and go to it, no complaints, no sleep, and execute it perfectly.

That is where I've job mode. I know it can't last. I know that eventually, I'm going to cry. I know this because yesterday, I was trying hard to concentrate at work and suddenly, big, stupid tears of self-pity would well up in my eyes.

Self pity because I truly love my Grandma and I don't want her to die. We have a very close relationship. A million memories, from her giving me licorice bits to nibble and Highlights magazines to read when I had to stay home from grade school, to her taking a swig of Rondec (foul tasting cough suppressant) right from the bottle to try and convince me that it tasted good, to trying desperately to teach me piano (I sucked), to driving me to college and back three times a week because I couldn't afford a car Freshman year, to getting on that damn carousel at the mall to make me laugh during one of my very dark periods... She is my friend.

To return her friendship, I've made myself available to her for just about any task/errand/name it over my adult life. And in the course of those hair washings and perms, grocery shopping, caring for her decrepit Chloe (who has since moved on to the Final Catnip Patch) and taking her for secret drives (don't tell my Mom...she didn't even have a license anymore, but it was an abandoned parking lot and my Grandma got such a rush from getting to drive), we became even closer. I wasn't a needy kid any longer, counting on her...I became a dear friend who she could count on and confide in.

So, if one more person says, "You're lucky you still have a grandma" or "Yeah, but she's have to expect this sort of thing," I'm going to forcibly insert 91 pins into that person's armpit. This is my Grandma. If they knew her, they'd understand that 91 years isn't enough. A million years is not enough time with a person like her. I'm greedy. I'm selfish. I want to have my Grandma here forever, so long as she is comfortable and has quality of life. (I'm not a completely selfish @sshole, after all.)

Yeah, I know my wants are ridiculous. That is why I'm in job mode.

So, here I am. It's a strange place and I'm turning around and around in this long grass, trying to tramp down a nest and get comfortable. Because I know this isn't over yet.

*in another post, I'll let you know why the person supposed to help my Grandma needs to be (and hopefully will, with our help) removed from the medical profession.

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