March 19
This camera is terrible with natural lighting, giving all of the photos a blurry Breck girl-like quality that doesn't quite sum up the me that I am.
I started writing about my grandparents yesterday, but got distracted by god only knows what ("Look! A bug! A pretty flower! A paperclip! Wooo!"), so wound up annoyed by the whole thing and deleting it.
My grandmother took kind of a bad fall on the ice last Tuesday, but insisted in the lying way only she can insist (under her breath because she didn't want Angelo to know that she'd fallen [?]) that it hurt, but she was fine! Yes, absolutely fine! Come Saturday, I picked them up to take them to an appointment with the accountant, and she could barely stagger out of the house. I grab her arm and hiss "This isn't FINE!! This is anything but fine! To the emergency room with you!"
Long story short: We sat in the ER for 5 long, long long hours. Know what was on TV? Go ahead, guess. You won't even be able to. However, if you guessed CURLING, you'd be right. Curling. Also know that the other people in the waiting room went out and brought back DONUTS and PIE and CAKE and there were KIDS and giddy laughter and coffee and families were meeting and greeting like they were at a CLUB or something. I spend the time whispering to my grandmother. "That woman has bugs in her hair. Also, she's totally faking it for drugs. THAT guy? Tripped and fell running from the cops. Don't let his sad face fool you. Everyone in here is sad."
They finally call her name, and she and I limp (well, she limps, I stride, because that's what I do!) into the treatment place (treatment place). They ask her a few questions, tell her to disrobe and put on a gown, and leave her to her own devices.
When she's done changing, I walk in. She is lying on the stretcher wearing nothing but the gown--AND HER SHOES. She glares up at me.
Eleanor: If they admit me, I will KILL YOU.
Me: Isn't this awesome!! All the time you've spent in the hospital, and this trip is JUST VISITING. It's like Monopoly!
Eleanor: Yeah, that's great.
A nurse comes in. He takes her vitals and says "I may start an IV on you" as he hurries out the door.
Eleanor: Did you HEAR THAT?! AN IV!!!
Me: He said "MAY" start!
Eleanor: That's ONE STEP CLOSER TO BEING ADMITTED! I WILL KILL YOU!
Me: Look here, if you broke a bone, we need to know! This is your fault, not mine!!
Eleanor: How the HELL is this my fault?
Me: If you had called your doctor to tell him what happened THE DAY IT HAPPENED you wouldn't be here, inhaling germs and bugs from that crazy woman!
Eleanor: Well, I don't like doctors.
Me: Obviously.
Eleanor: If they even mention admitting me, I am LEAVING.
Me: Sure! stagger on home, there, Limpy.
It turned out that nothing was broken, and she was allowed to go home. They also never started an IV on her.
In the midst of all of this, she was sent up to x ray. I decided to go back out to the waiting room to make sure Angelo hadn't gotten up and walked out. My first scanning of the room--no Angelo. After a slight wave of panic, I find him--of course--at the check in desk, talking to a pretty girl. We sit, and before I can tell him what's going on with Eleanor, he leans in and says "Know what happened?! See that box over there? See those people?! That woman came over to me and said "Hello, HANDSOME, and I said 'Hello!' and she said 'We got these BEAUTIFUL donuts here, would you like one?!' and I was pretty hungry, so I opened the box and took one, and OH MY GOD, Dane, you have never seen more beautiful cakes!! Lookit my hankerchef! It's all covered in chocolate, and I didn't even ask her for one! She just came right over and offered. They were really good! I bet there's more left in the box if you want one!"
Angelo is doing much, much better. His lapses ("When did you get here?! Where's my wife?!") are not as frequent. He is in a day care program twice a week, which when talking about it with US, he claims to hate, but talking to other people, he freely admits to enjoying. He calls it his job. I love him. Of course, he has bad hours, bad days, where he's unable to understand how things are--who gave him change, why he needs to go to doctors, what day things are taking place. There are ways he is utterly different and foreign to me, and I find myself growing impatient. His joy when I come to the door--even when he knows I'm coming--is that of a person who hasn't seen me in a year, not a week. When I call on the phone it is always "What are you doing?! When are you coming over?! We thought we'd see you by now!" even if I was there the day before. It's sweet and sad, both. He is lonely. I am their wheels and their escape route. I do not let them take their aches and pains too seriously, but I always listen without complaining.
There was a time, a few months ago, when he was not doing well at all. I was afraid to call, because I was not able to tell how he would be, whether or not he'd know me. It is better now, and I'm very glad.
the other day - home - email - tomorrow