January 12
 

Bad things are happening with my hair.  I mean, really bad.  Let's not talk about it,  it only makes me sad.
 
 

I am a bad, bad granddaughter.  After getting her home on Wednesday, settling her down, having an orange, taking down the extremely dead & sharp Christmas tree, vacuuming the house, dropping off her prescription for pain medicine, driving to CT Limo to get my Aunt (who, by the by didn't arrive for more than an hour and a half.  On the one hand, it was a pain in ass because I had just sucked down a gigantic cup of coffee and needed to pee.  On the other hand, it was 1.5 hours where I was alone with my thoughts, which was wonderful.)  So, I get my aunt, pick up the medicine, go back to my grandparent's place, where I sit and hang with them for a bit.  I left, and I HAVEN'T CALLED SINCE.  Nope.  When Angelo's parting words to me were "SO DANE, we're gonna see you tomorrow, RIGHT??" I knew it was time for me to take a little break from family love time.

Now I feel like a turd. Certainly not turdly enough to make me regret not seeing them yesterday, but a turd nonetheless.  A small turd.  A rabbit turd.  The way I see it is that my aunt will be here until Sunday.  I will be here FOREVER, and she can deal with whatevers going on without my interference. and I called today so I didn't have the opportunity to become consumed with the Guilt of Ages.  I probably won't go over.  Nope, I won't.  Shut up, I'm not going to.  I'm going to the gym, okay?  The Gym.  Yes, I am.  No, I am.
 

I Am All About Being Helpful:

The day after her surgery, I went to visit fairly early (hoping I'd be able to get in and out before my mother and grandfather arrived.  I know that sounds shitty, but they fight constantly.  I figured if I could get in and out, I might be able to have some kind of fun saturday on my own without having to sit between them in a waiting room or argue about lunch and where we should sit and who said what to whom.  It is like being the day camp counselor for two crabby adults.  Which I guess I am, if you come right down to it).  I was pretty surprised to see they had her propped up in a chair, all tube-y and dry heaving and looking like she was hit by a train.  In any case, we sat there, her drugged up and sad, and she informs me that she has to use this breathing contraption they make all bypass people use afterwards, to make sure the lungs stay clear and strong.  It's a plastic  thing with a breathing tube and three balls.  The idea is for her to suck into the tube, making the balls float up in the air.  Each ball is harder to raise than the other, meaning that you need to take an extremely (for a post bypass patient..)  deep breath to get the 3rd ball up.  For a normal person, this is easy.  The third ball isn't even half an inhalation.  To my grandmother's doped up brain, it is a nefarious plot by someone, the inventor of the machine perhaps, to watch her suffer and die.

Gramma: This thing.  is.  (pant pant)  horrible! (pant.)  why.  do I.  (gasp.  pant).  have to use it?

Dana:  Well, the way I see it, they want you to use it so you don't get pneumonia.  It should help you get some of that shit in your lungs out, and it's good for you.  Besides. you had to use it the last time, too.  This shouldn't come as a big surprise!

Gramma: (pant.)  It.  sucks.  And.  I can cough.  But.  I can't get anything out!

Dana: Take up smoking!

Gramma:  Good.  Idea.  I can't believe no one's.  suggested that.

Dana:  Well, it would WORK, wouldn't it?  Smoking leads to coughing, which leads to hocking out lumps of stinky shit!

Gramma:  I don't think it would be.  the American Heart Association.  recommended. way of getting it out.

Dana:  Oh, like THEY know anything! Look, you just had 4 bypasses.  Those arteries are CLEAR.  If you start smoking now, you've got at LEAST a year before you see any damage, and then you can just have them recrack you and do it again!

Gramma:  ohhh...goddd..shut up!

Dana:  No, seriously.  Look, bypasses usually last for about 10 years, right?  So, 10 years from now you'll be 84.  84 is PLENTY young enough to have your 3rd open heart!

Gramma:  Shoot me.  Right.  Now..

Dana:  Aw, pish.  That's just the percoset and anesthesia talking! Consider it.  Smoking! The Heart Patient's Friend, The Pulmonary Doc's Dream patient!  I'm coming back later with a carton of Chesterfield Kings!

Gramma:  Those are.  Unlady like.  Make it a carton of.  Camels.

Dana:  That's the spirit!
 
 
 

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Honestly, I thought you wouldn't.
Naturally, you thought you couldn't.
And probably we shouldn't.
But aren't you kind of glad we did?

Actually, it all was blameless.
Nevertheless, they'll call it shameless
So let's keep the lady nameless
But aren't you kind of glad we did?