It feels that way, anyways.
Really. I wish I knew what the fuck was up with that shit.
I've had more death in my life that affected me personally, at 25, than my friends well into their 60s and 70s deal with.
I've seen two suicides. Two overdoses. An accident. An illness. Two cancers. A murder.
The last time my Grandma almost died, I was the one who saved her. While all the other 'adults' (because regardless what I ever do, it's always the, "You're a child!" that's thrown my way) bickered with each other.
I was the one asking questions, calling other hospitals and doctors, there 24/7 making sure the useless assholes who almost killed her did what I thought was appropriate. Not anyone else. Me.
Everyone has since said about that hospital that, "Once you go in, you don't come out."
So... She's in there. Again.
After being told to refuse to be taken there. After being told why, and what happened to her last time.
She went. Again. She let my uncle - the active pill popping addict - take her there.
I get the call, "Grandmas in the hospital. Again. Same one."
Last time she went in for a small surgery, and within days ended up on a respirator and they told us to call Hospice.
So I drive the hour to my parents house only to sit and be bombarded by ignorant and uneducated conclusions, and a group of 'adults' who have apparently since forgotten the magnitude to which this hospital fucked up before.
Of course they wouldn't.
Because I fixed it.
As I always do.
My Grandma has geriatric anorexia. Yep. That's a real thing.
She's 92lbs. She won't eat. She's accepting whatever the hospital says.
Last time, the nurse kept giving her some pill. I asked what it was, she said, "I don't know."
"Yep. No clue."
"Stop giving it to her. Now. Don't do it again."
They pumped her full of morphine, every day, 3 times a day, then told me she wasn't breathing right. No kidding. On morphine?! How odd!
I have no strength in me to do it again. I can't fight against my parents, her kids, my cousins and siblings, and even her, to do it again.
Everyone was there last time. I told her all about it. Everyone, in the end, didn't give me credit but agreed to never send her there again.
Now, suddenly, I'm the one telling everyone to transfer her - and call insurance companies - and blah blah.
"You know what April, just shut up. You're not a doctor."
I can't battle all of that again.
Admitingly... I haven't even been to the hospital yet.
I don't wanna run into anyone. At all. I really don't.
Only to be met with more bitching, and bitching to me about other people, or my parents, or their parents, or whatever.
Can't. Don't. No thanks.
I'll probably make this YouTube video that apparently I must make because I can't shake the feeling that I need to... Then go see her.
Hopefully everyone will be gone. Hopefully she'll be asleep. That way, I can just climb into bed with her and take a nap.
Sounds like a fucking plan.
And probably cry, because no matter how angry her arrogant and mislead arguments are - how insistent she is on denying the truth, like they fucking suck, it's Grandma.
She raised me. Literally. She's been the only person, really, to ever see me cry. She has been the only person who has ever held me when I cried, and asked her what to do.
I remember when my Grandpa died, who was basically my Dad... I went to her, and bawled my eyes out. She held me, and told me she loved me and it would all get easier. I asked her, as I always do, to please not tell anyone I was crying.
"You always hold everyone together, April. That's not healthy."
"I know, Grandma."
She laughed, "Who are you gonna come and spill your guts to when I'm gone?"
Well, I've lost everyone else! What's taking the last one?!
The very last one.
The woman who raised me, played with me, made me every meal, taught me how to cook, held me when I cried, let me cry, let me be angry and upset when I needed to...
I feel like a 70 year old woman who is starting to go to all her friends funerals.
The only happy, positive memories I have of anything before addiction - of my childhood - have her in them.
Fucking balls, man.
There she is. That's from a couple months ago, I think. Our 'every couple months we go to dinner and argue about who pays' outing.
I hope she makes it out of this one this time.
She was supposed to be my date to my first big movie premiere! So was my Grandpa.
They've seen the stuff I've done on DVDs, so... I don't know...
I feel like this is a time for her kids to learn some life lessons. To finally ban together and figure shit out.
I step in, again, I not only completely drain myself - again - and deal with everyone's bullshit - again... But I can rob them of this very important time to finally figure their shit out.
To have to figure it out.
When do you ever learn, or do work, when you don't have to? Especially life work.
...at the expense of a life, tho?
That's what I thought before. That's why I stepped up as firmly as I did.
I'm often completely and totally perplexed by people.
Just sitting in a room full of fucktards in silence, watching them all move around - listening to the pure shit spew from their mouths... Shit that makes no sense, isn't tied to a useful thought or plan.
Then saying one comment gets the whole room turned against you. Or, more often, my familiarity lies in being totally and completely ignored.
Tomorrow, I may be blogging from the hospital. If I can't sleep, that is.
Who am I to bitch? Death, and all the things that remind one of it, gave me a break for - meh - two years? I think?
Say a fucking prayer for all of us.
Keep in mind this isn't some normal family, either.
We're all Italian.
Start watching the news. LOL!
No matter how many times I've been personally touched by death and loss - I am always reminded, every time, how precious every life is.
To cherish and love and respect everyone in your life.
Go spend some time with an elderly friend, relative, or loved one, today.
In 3, 5, 8, 10 years - you may wish you had.
Hugs and love. XO