Monday, December 17, 2007


I was at the hospital until 3:30 Sunday morning. Mom went in with a headache and a nosebleed Saturday night, a scan revealed bleeding on the brain. Coupled with pressure on her brain, she had a bout of expressive aphasia and could barely use her right arm. During the bedside vigil I watched her chest rise and fall, and nearly choked on the dread that she would stop breathing. The medical staff basically poured platelets and blood into her, and Sunday afternoon brought a few hours of miraculous improvement. Today she can talk, but she is weak and in pain. Her homecoming should have lifted my heart, but I know she told her doctor she wants to die at home.

Since F-bomb announced his new job in a different city (which gave me another occasion to cry in front of my boss), I have been scrambling to find a new job of my own. Tomorrow morning I have an interview with someone who has shot me down twice, once for a volunteer position. I also do not have the appropriate shoes for the suit I borrowed that is too tight in the ass. I figure I will look great if I can keep my coat on and the interviewer doesn't look down.

I am not so sure I can celebrate Christmas this year. Last year I had to boycott Christmas with the in-laws and drank Kahlua and eggnog for breakfast, and mom had just started recovering after the physicians gave her two weeks to live so I was only getting by because of antidepressants and crying in my Smirnoff. In 2005 our wonderful dog was killed after the first snowfall, and my husband's aunt died from tornado-inflicted injuries. The year before that I interviewed for and got a job on Christmas Eve, and that night MacGyver and I decided over our meal of Easy Mac that we were too miserable and had to move back to our hometown. Plus I had to work on Christmas at my worst job, and at my friends' holiday party I came down with my worst flu ever. I called my brother-in-law, the doctor, to make sure I didn't have typhoid fever or something, because normally the flu didn't make me wish I was dead. I was yakking every 15 minutes, and my drive home took 20 minutes. Luckily, Velocibadgergirl, MB, and Kitters put me up for the night and threw away all my bags of vomit real quick so I didn't have to see it too much. Kitters woke me up a couple times that night to check my vital signs and remind me not to eat his houseplants or there would be a reckoning.

I'm just so tired of December hurting.


Anonymous said...



velocibadgergirl said...

If you need anything, anytime, just ask...sending love and gentle hugs. <3