Change of plans

 

Zozo had a half day, so I puttered around the house and got myself ready to go before picking her up at noon. Per her request, we had lunch at Steak 'n Shake before heading to Sam's and the pet store. I had a full list of errands for the afternoon, so I left my bag in the car while unloading and attending to a few things that had popped up for work while we were out. Zo changed into her softball practice clothes and I got her water bottle ready, and we climbed back into the car again. As I backed out of the garage I pulled my phone out.

It's never a good sign when you have three missed calls: mother, sister, husband. All within a 20-minute period. My mother was the only one of the three who had left a message, which is pretty much worthless because she's flustered on a good day and pretty much incomprehensible when she's stressed. I got the basics: the nursing home where my grandmother lives was sending Granny to the hospital.

Hours later we know that although she had complained of chest pain, all her tests were okay. One of her cardiac enzymes (whatever the hell that is) is slightly elevated and the ER doctor doesn't know what that means, so she's been admitted and is staying the night for observation.

I could tell she was frightened when I got there, but she settled down fairly quickly and we managed to get her laughing. By the time we left hours later, she was doing well and wondering how long she'd have to stay in that stupid bed.

She told the ER doctor she is 82, right before she started flirting with him. She is 90. I suppose those eight years make a big difference when you're flirting with someone less than half your age. She also chastised M for standing in the doorway of her room; she wasn't able to see the cute paramedics bringing in other patients with him blocking her view.

I am relieved that she appears to be okay. It could be something as simple as she forgot to eat today. Who knows. My Granny is the healthiest person I know, the memory issues notwithstanding. She's never in the hospital, and I don't ever remember her having so much as a head cold when I was growing up. She's a tough little lady who rarely complains despite having more than her fair share of heartache.

I was going to write "I hate hospitals." But then I realized it's not hospitals I hate. It's the emotions that come along with being in a hospital. Anxiety and worry. Boredom as we wait for the doctor to return. The inability to find a single surface upon which it is comfortable to rest, and the desire to set down nothing lest you pick up some weird germ on your handbag which you then bring home and share with your family. It's being crammed in an incredibly small room with someone wearing next to nothing who is radiating fear. It's the strange sensation of your entire world condensing down into a 100 square foot room with strange noises and smells, that whatever happens outside those four walls doesn't matter. The utter lack of control.

All of this is exhausting to those of us who are well. It's magnified a million times for the one in the bed hooked up to bags and beeping machines.

I hope Granny is getting some rest tonight.

I am finding myself irrationally irritable at just about everything. I blew up over a request made because it wasn't really a request but more of an assumption. I know that I should not be as upset as I got over it, and I know that I will be eventually fine with the whole thing, but coming on the heels of the hospital visit I lost my shit over it and reacted poorly. This is upsetting to me, and frustrating. I am trying to hard to see things like this differently, to react in a loving, kind way instead of feeling yet another obligation, yet another task piled on. So add "pissed off, overwhelmed and overloaded guilt" to the list of emotions I'm currently feeling. I think I need to just go to bed.

Two shots today. The one below is just for this space. No Instagram, no Facebook. Just my little Granny, resting in an alien world.