I Am Not a Bullshit Artist, But I'm Learning to Play One In Real Life

Shortly after I left her yesterday Z began coughing up blood. Not the smattering of blood that finally got her to see a surgeon in the first place, but lots of blood. Her youngest son called an ambulance. She was admitted last night to the nearest hospital. She has pulmonary emboli. She was dehydrated, was getting very little oxygen to her brain. She sounds so much better today than she did yesterday when she was lifting the baby, and I kept saying, "Don't do that," and she kept saying, "Oh I'm fine." She asked me to get the half empty glass of water from her bedside. We sat on the porch for awhile then went inside. I had to go back out to get the half empty glass of tepid water left untouched on the porch. She never drank even a sip of water in the three hours we worked on closets. The toddler wanted to be in my path to her, blocking the attention flow from our task to him. I know that's what toddlers do. It is the natural order that a toddler would be right in the middle of everything, but he should have been with his other grandmother yesterday. It isn't his fault, any of it, but still... Z probably encouraged his young mother to bring the babies. That would be what she would want even if it isn't the best thing for her. She needs rest and being cared for. She needs a calm, quiet, clean house with someone near to wait on her. She needs a strong female hand. But the only strong female hand she'd accept to run things for her is in the Pacific Northwest about to get married and who has two daughters of her own out of school for the summer.

I have never been much of one to let bullshit go uncalled. So I am not always the easiest of people to be around when you're busy rewriting recent history. I am trying very hard to learn to shut the fuck up and just nod my head.

Small Cell Squamous Lung Cancer

It is very bad news. The healthy one, the thin one, the vegetarian, the one who quit smoking very young (she dabbled for a couple of years as a rebellion, but never really took to it) the one with children and grandchildren, the one with a million reasons to live--she's the one with lung cancer. The crazy one with not a single living relative and damn few friends, the one who will not quit smoking for anyone or anything, the one who's overweight, who eats whatever she wants, stays up all night, sleeps late, the one who isn't careful about anything, the one who takes at least thirteen pills a day and chases them with espresso, the one who forgets to put anything on her stomach until four in the afternoon and sucks down ice cream and potato chips after midnight--she's the one in the pink, who seems destined to keep hanging on, even when she doesn't want to.

And some would tell me that god would have a plan in all of this.