I spent Valentine’s Day evening with my grandmother. This is because a) I like to leave my parents (a.k.a. housemates) alone on Valentine’s Day and b) my grandma had someone for 60 years and doesn’t have him now. We had pizza, salad and played a board game. She mentioned she wasn’t feeling well.
That Thursday she goes to the doctor, still feeling sick. They send her to the hospital for a ulcerative colitis flare up. We juggle packing, locating appropriate paperwork, and collecting her cat, Hairy, and bringing him to our house. I neither post, nor go to Zumba.
Friday, my mother leaves town to go visit her mother in Detroit, who is recovering from back surgery. Dad, who was supposed to go with her and do that grandmother’s taxes, stays.
Fast forward to Tuesday. Grandma is released from the hospital, ulcerative colitis back under control. Just as well, because by this point, she’s ready to throttle someone out of sheer boredom. Hairy goes back to her house, much to the relief of our cats. Things appear to be back to normal.
Thursday, the same week. I come home from work at 9 a.m. to find an mostly full bowl of cereal on the table and my dad’s lunch still on the kitchen counter. I’m mildly concerned and don’t immediately take my usual nap. I’m finishing clean up when I get a text (maybe it was a call, I don’t remember now), that says my grandma is in the emergency room and dad’s with her. They decide to admit her and take five hours to do so. I manage to grab a quick nap before running out her house to pick up some things for her and collect Hairy again. I can’t find the cat – he’s still freaked out by the paramedics who came in an took his person away. I head the the hospital, where I swap places with dad, who goes to look for Hairy. I listen to my grandmother for an hour and a half – she’s depressed and upset. Dad finds the cat under the bed. We both head home, burnt out. A few hours later, we get a call placing us on a boil water advisory. Serious competition for the worse day I’ve ever had.
Friday. At some point I learn (maybe this was Thursday? It’s all a blur.) that grandma had an AFib event. I go to work, come home for nap, go to the hospital and visit grandma for a couple of hours. It’s 80 degrees out. It’s February. It should be in the 40s at the warmest and there should be snow and overcast skies. Instead, it’s beautiful and balmy. There are daffodils coming out. I try to not let it bother me, but it does. This is not normal weather for this time of year. It was, in fact, 40 degrees Monday. And I hate daffodils. Unnaturally blooming before crocuses does not improve my attitude toward them. My grandma’s in a much better mood and finds these observations hilarious. Good.
Saturday. The temperature plummets, reaching a high of only 55 and steadily falling all day. Grandma gets released from the hospital. Hairy once again goes home. Work sends me out to Spencer, West Virginia, an hour away. I fight getting carsick on the way down, but the actual job is not that bad. An hour back, a quick shower and I’m off to gaming.
Sunday. My friends have bought a house! They pick me up in an empty U-Haul truck for a day of moving furniture. (I did volunteer.) We meet up with a few more friends and move every large piece of furniture they own, including a washing machine, filling the truck twice. We finish off the day with pizza and bottled water, telling stupid jokes and passing around an extra large bottle of painkillers. I hurt, but I’m happy. I get yelled at by the cat when I get home for not being around all weekend.
Monday. I start a job application given to me by my dad over the weekend. Still sore from moving stuff, I decide not to go to Zumba. It’s a good thing, since I get a call from my grandma’s neighbor, who says she’s having problems breathing and is dizzy. The neighbor calls an ambulance, dad goes to the hospital. He didn’t return until 2 a.m. Grandma’s had another AFib event. I share the info with my brother and cousins. I’m so worried its hard to sleep.
Tuesday. I run out after work to pick up Hairy. While I’m there I collect some of grandma’s stuff, then head to the hospital to drop it off. She’s in the cardiac ward this time – not a happy place. To put it mildly, she’s miffed. I’m too exhausted to be entertaining and go home after 45 minutes or so.
Between the hospital visits, worry and the unfinished job application still hanging over my head, I’m stressed. I burst into tears. Like, bawling, sobbing tears. When I open my swollen eyes again, there’s blood all over my hands and the tissue I was crying into. It’s dripping down my face, onto my shirt and pants and the carpet. A combination of the weird, screwed up weather and bawling has given me a monumental nosebleed.
And I start laughing. Not because the stress has finally broken me, but because I’m sitting here watching the bright red blood drip on the tub and my only thought is, “Hey! That’s oxygen rich blood! I need that. Bleed the non-oxygenated stuff.”
Good lord, will I ever stop being a nerd?