Don't Tell Mama, but ...

As HRH has pointed out to me, I talk about my mother a lot in this blog. I can't help it. She is a constant source of shit that I need to get out of my head and now that I'm having to take a break from therapy in hopes of making my monthly mortgage payments while maintaining my lifestyle (I love things. LOVE.), you dear people are taking Mary's place.

Though, you seem to be content with our relationship because I have received hundreds of emails asking for a follow-up on the, "Mama's in the Hospital? ... Since Thursday?" story. Well, let me tell you, you picked an ideal day to ask.

Here we go. Allegedly, my mother went into atrial fibrillation (A-Fib) on Thursday last. Allegedly my sister A drove her to the hospital in the medical knowledge capital of the modern world, Tifton, Georgia. There my mother was allegedly admitted to the world-renowned Tift General Memorial Hospital, ICU wing. You may remember, that I first heard about this through an IM conversation with my 11 year old niece/biologically, sister/legally.

This is the story I got from A after I called Monday night to find out what the fuck was going on.

This is the same Monday night where, in a matter of 4 hours, Mom went from being released from her then private room to being returned to ICU because her A-Fib was back. Since then she has been telling A that she was going to be released each day and to drive to Tifton (30 miles from home) to be ready to take her home.

I've been keeping up with progress through A who has told nothing but stories of no-show doctors and unsympathetic nurses. (In Tift Memorial! Imagine!) My mother happens to work for this same hospital. Apparently any signs of favoritism are harshly frowned upon. (Or they all hate my mother.)



So. Wednesday evening my phone rings and it's my mom's cell phone. Now, this could be A calling, or Mom. I decide it's not worth the risk, so I don't answer it. No voicemail. Then in moments it's ringing again. I got that, "the call is coming from inside the house" feeling. Then ... derk-a-derk-derka-derka-derk-derk ... my "New Voicemail" song.

Know what's worse than actually picking up the call? Forcing yourself to listen to the voicemail. It makes me feel like I did that time I skydived and the guy said, "Ok, step out of the plane."

I take a deep breath, and I listen. It's Mom. She says she's out of ICU and has a private room with a phone. Gives number. Says for me to call later. I decide to define later as, "tomorrow."

So around 12:30 on Thursday, my phone rings. It's Mom. Shit. I forgot to call her. Like, seriously. I totally never thought once about her all day. Mary would find that very interesting, I'm sure. Anyway, I pick up the phone and she starts giving me the run down.

Our conversation consists of her telling me she's going in to be put under anaesthesia so they can shock her heart back into normal rhythm. (Yes. Like, "CLEAR!" guh-gunk with the paddles.) And she tells me how she's seen her oncologist who says she might have cancer of the pancreas, liver or upper GI.

Awesome. As we're on the phone, the guys come in to take her to the OR and I tell her, "Ok. I'll call tonight to find out how everything went. Maybe you'll be awake by the time I get home."

She says ...

"Or maybe a stranger will answer my phone." For those of you with inexperience in having the world's most passive agressive mother, this translates to, "Or maybe I will die and they'll put someone else in my room."

I said, "Ok. Well, have fun!" and I hung up.

But wait! There's more!

I call back last night and someone different does answer the phone ... A. Thank God. So, Mom's okay and is talking to the doctors and A will call me once she leaves the hospital. And she does. And I start asking about the possibility of the cancer, and A tells me, "They didn't say that. They said she looked fine and that they just wanted to see her in a month for another CT scan."

Huh?

Now, in my conversations with my mom and A I have received various versions of the details of this hospital drama.

A says Mom has been in the hospital since Thursday.
Mom says she's been there since Saturday.

A says that she has been at the hospital every day from approximately 10am to 5pm, since Monday at the request of our mother who has expected to be released daily.
Mom says A has been there for a max of 3 hours a day and is only going there because she wants an excuse to get out of work.

A says that the doctors have failed to show up repeatedly while she's been sitting with Mom at the hospital.
Mom says A's never there so how would she know? The doctors are with her all the time.

Now, I can understand differing versions when we're talking perceptions or emotions, but basic facts ... Was A at the hospital or not? Was Mom admitted Thursday or Saturday?

I ask you dear readers, what am I supposed to do with this? Seriously.

Stay tuned for the story of the blowout that happens when I tell the family that I'm not playing until they can find a way to get their stories straight.