counting the days on her fingers
Jun. 13th, 2002 02:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thejunipertreeSurgery is tomorrow at 8 am. I'll be at the hospital at 7 am, to spend some time with my mother and to talk to Dr. Winter. I'm still not completely confident that I understand what's going to be going on. They're going to remove piece of her colon, then "try to put it back together" (my mom's words), then try to put it back in? And if it doesn't work, then they're going to give her a temporary colostomy bag until they're able to put her colon back together?
I have to speak with this doctor. My mom's not exactly the most skilled at explaining medical terminology without use of the word "thingie". That particular trait was passed onto me from her father.
Now, I'm cleaning the apartment in a bid to take my mind off of the situation. I have to go up to the hospital in an hour or so to bring her shampoo/conditioner so she can attempt to take a shower.
Yesterday, the dickhead-sibling-no-longer returned my call and proved (yet again) his status of dickhead-sibling-no-longer. I don't know if it's his trademark taciturn and stoicism showing through once more, but he seemed fairly uninterested in hearing about it. Maybe I'm just being a bitch. He told me to call and leave a message on his answering machine if there are any updates. I reckon he won't be coming up to the hospital at any point.
I managed to keep my temper in check with him, though one dig did manage to slip out. When he asked how long she'd been sick, I replied "For quite some time, but you wouldn't know about that. Would you?"
I verbally expressed my hatred of him last night to the Priest They Call Him. Something which I've never done before and something which makes me feel like ass.
Richard kept messaging me early early this morning with attempted words of comfort, but I wasn't having any of that. I know he always liked my mother and I recognise that he is geuinely concerned about the state of her welfare (and in turn, the state of my own welfare disintergrating because of the state of her welfare). But, I just am not mentally and emotionally able to deal with anyone right now. Right now, I don't want a lot of "Everything'll be alright." because I've heard so much of that in my past and those words never worked their magic charm before. Why should they now? They've almost become jinx-like to me. A superstitious wary look at them from the corner of my eye. I don't wish them to be in the same room as me, they might throw a wrench into the entire works.
I've been avoiding being home at night, if I can help it. It's too much for me. During the day, I'm fine. Because she wasn't home during the day to begin with. But, at night...I can't deal with the empty places. I go out. I drive around until all hours. I need those quiet and selfish moments to keep my head above water.
Everytime I'm at the hospital, I ask her if there's anything she wants me to bring. And I've realised, while writing this, why I'm continuing to do it. There's a tiny thought in my beady little bird skull that there MUST be some wild and magical thing that I can bring in to her that will make her okay. Something from home that will heal her. Yesterday, I even contemplated sneaking Edgar into her hospital room in a bid to make her smile.
I don't know what I'm going to do with myself.
I have to speak with this doctor. My mom's not exactly the most skilled at explaining medical terminology without use of the word "thingie". That particular trait was passed onto me from her father.
Now, I'm cleaning the apartment in a bid to take my mind off of the situation. I have to go up to the hospital in an hour or so to bring her shampoo/conditioner so she can attempt to take a shower.
Yesterday, the dickhead-sibling-no-longer returned my call and proved (yet again) his status of dickhead-sibling-no-longer. I don't know if it's his trademark taciturn and stoicism showing through once more, but he seemed fairly uninterested in hearing about it. Maybe I'm just being a bitch. He told me to call and leave a message on his answering machine if there are any updates. I reckon he won't be coming up to the hospital at any point.
I managed to keep my temper in check with him, though one dig did manage to slip out. When he asked how long she'd been sick, I replied "For quite some time, but you wouldn't know about that. Would you?"
I verbally expressed my hatred of him last night to the Priest They Call Him. Something which I've never done before and something which makes me feel like ass.
Richard kept messaging me early early this morning with attempted words of comfort, but I wasn't having any of that. I know he always liked my mother and I recognise that he is geuinely concerned about the state of her welfare (and in turn, the state of my own welfare disintergrating because of the state of her welfare). But, I just am not mentally and emotionally able to deal with anyone right now. Right now, I don't want a lot of "Everything'll be alright." because I've heard so much of that in my past and those words never worked their magic charm before. Why should they now? They've almost become jinx-like to me. A superstitious wary look at them from the corner of my eye. I don't wish them to be in the same room as me, they might throw a wrench into the entire works.
I've been avoiding being home at night, if I can help it. It's too much for me. During the day, I'm fine. Because she wasn't home during the day to begin with. But, at night...I can't deal with the empty places. I go out. I drive around until all hours. I need those quiet and selfish moments to keep my head above water.
Everytime I'm at the hospital, I ask her if there's anything she wants me to bring. And I've realised, while writing this, why I'm continuing to do it. There's a tiny thought in my beady little bird skull that there MUST be some wild and magical thing that I can bring in to her that will make her okay. Something from home that will heal her. Yesterday, I even contemplated sneaking Edgar into her hospital room in a bid to make her smile.
I don't know what I'm going to do with myself.
