So I wrote about four sentences' worth of an entry yesterday, an entry I didn't really WANT to write but simply didn't know what ELSE to write: My mom was in the hospital. She'd been in the hospital since Friday. They didn't really know what was wrong and the tests were starting to creep up into the realm of OH SHIT.
(At least according to ME. My mom was like, "whatever, I'm FINE.")
And so I finally caved and figured that writing a blog entry telling the Internet about it was a slightly better use of my time than all the WebMD Googling I was doing, Dramablogging may be ill-advised at times, but my Internet browsing history was becoming a full-on experiment in terror, so I figured I better let it out.
I only wrote four sentences because — as you may have surmised by all the past tense I'm using — that was when my mom called to report that the tests all came back normal and she was free to go home in just a few hours. Okay then!
And so we can add this incident to my upcoming bestselling self-help book, tentatively titled "The Power of Bloggable Thinking: 400 Times I Complained to the Internet About Things Only To Have That Thing Magically Resolve Itself Within the Next 24 Hours."
(Is that title too long? Maybe I should just call it "If You Blog It, Your Kid Will Up & Do the Opposite So For the Love of God Don't Tell the Internet That He Slept Through the Night.")
This was — thankfully, ever so very much thankfully — my mom's first health issue/hospitalization in a really long time, and thus far it still doesn't seem to be anything too serious. (She's a breast cancer survivor, as you may/may not remember, so she knows a little something about how to kick illness in the ass.) It was also the first health issue/hospitalization she's had since my dad died, and thus it was the first time I had to stop my brain from leap-frogging over the millions of treatable, totally-not-serious conditions she could have and going directly to OMFG ORPHANHOOD.
I didn't do a really good job at that last bit, obviously.
The idea of it happening again, all over again, is just...nope. Nope nope nope. Not even. Not going to. LA LA LA LA LA. I know it's happened to many of you — so many of you who have shared your stories and grief with me over the past few years in the comments and over email have lost not just one, but both parents. Plus a beloved in-law or grandparent or sibling or best friend or or and and. And I feel kind of stupid even bringing this heavy, downer of a subject up because 1) HELLOOOO, MY MOM IS FINE, and 2) DID I MENTION THAT SHE IS FINE? BECAUSE FINE.
Anyway, I (obbbbbviously) am just rambling at this point and am not sure where I'm going with this. It was stressful and scary for a couple days there and I let myself get a little too consumed with this feeling that the stakes were even higher, because AGAIN: NOPE. Not you, Mom. You're the one I've got left and you're not allowed. You're not allowed. NOW GET OUT OF THE HOSPITAL AND GO TO YOUR ROOM. also i promise to call and visit more because gaaahhhh
So this is possibly something I need to Work On As A Person or maybe just Mash Down Into Silent Submission Of Anxiety-Related Denial for awhile. (Or embrace one of the lessons of BOM: turn it off turn it off like a liiiiiiight switch.) But thankfully for now: Sorry, cancer. Not this time. And as always, a hearty and heartfelt Fuck you.