Spoiler: everybody lives

Fair warning: heavy family crap.  No promises as to this being the least bit interesting.

I act like a rock, but I am not one.  Well, maybe one of those "fool's gold" rocks that flakes apart.


Anyway, last night, my brother tells me that my mother has had another "episode" and was brought into the emergency room.  They thought it could be a stroke or a seizure.  I was calm.  I talked to her on the phone, she sounded okay.

I call Sue to ask her come early- around 9:30 or 10am so I could go sit with my mom at the hospital while she waited for her tests, results, etc.  Sue only replies, "I'll get there as soon as I can."

9:45am rolls around, so I call Sue's house.  She answers, "Haha, oh it's so hard for me to get moving in the morning!!  I'm just having my breakfast and then I can head over."  Super.  Thanks for lighting a fire under your ass when my mother is sitting in a hospital bed.

As I was waiting for Sue to get here so I could go to the hospital, I wanted to get Gretchen pumped up for Sue's visit.  I ask, "do you know who's coming to see you today?"
She replies, "GRAMMOM DOT???"
"No, honey, Grammom Sue!" and my voice breaks.  Because just for a moment, my defenses cracked and the thought of ever having to tell Gretchen that Grammom Dot could not come see her shattered me.  How could I tell her that?  How could I stand it?  But a "mommy" doesn't get to sit there and have her cry.  She has to manufacture a smile to reassure her very intelligent 2 year old that there was nothing to be afraid of when mommy was gone all day and that she would have a great time with Grammom Sue.

I got to the hospital at 11:30am, and stayed there until 7pm.  I hung out and waited with my mom to get her results.  The final verdict is that her MRI is perfect, and they are not sure what happened, but they were leaning towards a mini-stroke and would put her on anti-stroke medicines.  And released her!  She was pumped.

By 5pm, even though I sat there all day, I was exhausted.  Just before we leave, my sister calls the hospital room.  As I talk to her, she says she spent a couple of days thinking she may have lymphoma.  Floor drop #2.  She saw a doctor, and they told her she could have a really bad viral infection..... or cancer, and that bloodwork would tell her which it was.  Thankfully, it was just a viral infection.  She didn't want to tell anyone so they wouldn't worry unnecessarily.  I understand that thinking, and may have done that myself.  But I still wish she would have told me.  Some people deserve the opportunity to worry about you.

Despite all this (and losing my parking ticket and having to pay the full amount of #$^% money), I was in a weirdly good mood.  I get home, and my husband is on the couch.  He plays a trailer of a horror movie, and I ask (in a completely joking non-hostile tone) "can't you like comedies?"  This is a running joke.
"I'm just going through the new releases GOD!" all annoyed.  Ooook.

2 minutes later, he's flipping through the channels, and puts on one of those "Ancient Mysteries" shows.  I thought it was one of those "aliens built the pyramids" shows, so I say, (again in a joking, happy, non-hostile tone) "hey, this is pretty close to a comedy!"
"OMG!!!" pushes the remote towards me and yanks at his hair in frustration.  ...........Oooooooook.

1 minute later, he sits up, puts his shoes on and says, "going to work out in the garage."
I say, "Too much together time?"
"NO I JUST WANT TO WORK OUT THERE" and leaves.  WTF, dude?

Look, I just spent the whole day in the hospital going through a lot of bad news.  I came out weathered, but still standing.  Was this offensive to him?  Was I supposed to be wailing and writhing on the floor to get a little bit of sympathy and/or compassion?  Hell, I'd settle for simply keeping his head out of his ass and not acting like a dick.  Punch to the gut #3.

So I mess around in the basement a bit... then go out to the garage and ask what his problem is.  He has very little to say about anything.  Whatever, I go inside to take a shower.  Hospitals make you feel icky.

Finally, alone in the shower, I cry.  Every once in a while, I need some help.

UPDATE:  my husband let me sleep in and unloaded the dishwasher.  And we are in negotiations for me taking over half of the second floor of the barn as a sculpture studio.  All is forgiven.