I try very hard not to complain, but only seldom succeed. I don’t intend to complain for the next 15 minutes or so. Maybe avoiding it in small increments will make me stronger.
Lately I’ve been smacking myself around and comparing myself to Paris Hilton whining about the color of her dog clashing with the color of the purse said dog is in. Don’t know if she actually did that, but it sounds like something she would do and I’m trying to make a point here. The problem is I forgot what the point was.
Oh yes, the insane asylum on wheels. As mentioned a few weeks ago, the Hubman, Mother-in-Law, and I are driving to from North Texas to Key West, Florida for a family wedding because she refuses to fly there. Ah family weddings, wouldn’t be easier to have one great huge wedding and marry everyone off at once? I think the Moonies had a good thing going there, although most of their beliefs are a bit off the wall, in my opinion anyway. It would be a huge cost savings, and greatly reduced stress level would be only a few on the benefits. But, every Bride wants her day and who I am to differ? In fact, I liked my day so much I did it 3 times.
Mother-in-Law traded in her leased car for a new one in preparation for the trip. She’s been driving a Cadillac sedan. The new one is a the Caddy version of a cross over vehicle. This darn car does everything. It even has its own phone number for crying out loud. Now I have to add accidentally butt dialing her car and having her overhear my conversation with Hubman about her driving me crazy to my list of ridiculous things to worry about. And get this, it has dual Blu-Ray players in the back of the headrests with wireless headphones. How cool is that? Now we’ll be squabbling over who gets to sit in the back seat.
Oh well, as Lily Thomlin once said “mankind invented the spoken word because of his basic inner need to complain.” I consider it my duty to listen to my inner needs.
This diatribe started out as an email reply to my sister’s previous communique to me and ended up being a blog post. It started out with stuff that’s between me and sister, and ain’t nobody’s business but ours. But it turned into a rant and rants are one of my specialties. My other specialties are strawberry shortcake and long-winded short stories.
I received an email from a friend who expressed concern after reading my blog and went on to say that I sounded depressed and angry. My first thought was “oh, so now you’re going to fricking psychoanalyze me through my blog????” It really blew the lid off the pot and got me going. If one could somehow harness anger as a power source, North Texas would have a free month of electricity thanks to me.
After a long session of stewing and muttering it came to me. He’s right and Hell ya, I’m depressed and angry. So much in fact that I feel stripped naked and standing on a hill-top in all my furious glory with flames shooting out of my head.Actually the depression stems from frustration due to the inability to adequately express as much anger as I have at the moment without committing some act that would get me on the news. Dealing with Hubman’s mother is becoming an ongoing night mare. I feel like I died and went to Mother in Law hell.
I’m also boiling mad at the medical profession. Her doctor informed her that HE preferred to treat teeny-weeny pre-cancerous lumps conservatively and follow-up surgery with a round of radiation therapy. It should be against the law to call anything as violent as blasting someone with Xrays therapy. This means zapping her chest with radiation 5 days a week for 6 weeks. He did not even bother to tell her options and ask her what her preference was. To me it sounds like he’s treating her breast as if it was some kind of recalcitrant growth not attached to her body. And so now he’s gonna just blast the living shit out of it. Back to the stone age or further back if possible. Can’t have any slip ups on HIS statistics, no sireeee.
So again, Hell yes, I’m angry. I’m pissed at the way doctors think they are God just because they took a few years of Human mechanics classes and I’m pissed at the people who go along with this delusion. So yea, in case I haven’t clearly spelled it out I’M ANGRY. A raging, boiling hot lava, old wet hen, white-hot, nuclear explosion, fire first and ask questions later type of angry. PS: I’m also angry at God.
Other than that everything is fine 🙂 And thank you for listening.
Two days ago Mr. Husband probably had one of the worse days of his life. He spent most of his day with his Mom who is FREAKING OUT about a diagnosis of a stage one pre-cancerous lump in her breast. According to all medical professionals involved it is not even close to death sentence. She should be fine and live a normal life (whatever that means) and still go to a wedding in December in Key West, Florida.
We’re driving to North Texas to Key West because Mom-in-Law won’t fly. So we get to experience 4 days in a mobile insane asylum that is Hubman, mother-in-law, and me cowering in the back floorboard with my iPod cranked up loud enough to damage my hearing.
At this point I don’t care. If I go deaf it may be a blessing in disguise. I suggesting renting an RV to make things easier, but she nixed that idea immediately by announcing that she did not intend to go to the bathroom whilst flying down the road. I snapped “well who asked you to anyway?” That took her aback so there was temporary silence for a small bit. Jeebus, you would think I was expecting her to squat over a tomato juice can in the back seat like the rum runners used to do on their runs between Chicago and Kansas City.
Mother in Law has been in doom and gloom mode for 3 weeks now. In her mind she’s already gone down to Sparkman’s and picked out her coffin and tombstone. We’re hoping that this is a passing stage and she will come to terms with the fact that this is probably not her swan song after all. She’s also angry with her husband who left her in death 3 years ago. Now she feels she’s facing this alone. I hear that it is common for the remaining spouse to be angry with the spouse who left them behind alone to cope with whatever comes along. But, we love her and she’s not alone. I hope she can find comfort in that eventually.
She had to get an MRI on Thursday. She declared herself claustrophobic and had already decided that she would lose her mind and die right there in the MRI machine. She didn’t of course. They doped her up so good that she had to use a cane when she got home that evening because she was too woozy to walk straight. Hey, I would have been yelling “Yee haw, I have a fantastic and totally legal major buzz on.” If one can not at least enjoy some part of unpleasant medical goings on – that’s just sad.
Anyway, Hubman got home from dealing with his Mom all day and walks in to me chopping broccoli with unusual animosity, even for broccoli. I seasoned them with lemon juice, olive oil and tears. I turned on him and began the story of how, since this is my third marriage, that this is my 5th rodeo with sick parents and the death of parents. I then told him that I was firmly in the camp that believes that elderly people have the right to make their own decisions and even die with dignity if that is their choice. Usually the worst enemy of the elderly parents in this scenario is their children, because they can’t let go. Also they have switched roles and think that they are the parent and the actual parent is now an uncooperative child.
I started screaming about how I think that the medical profession is ghoulish for keeping people alive when they don’t want to be and are supported by the children of the patient. I then went on to express my view that a medical power of attorney only comes into effect if or when the patient is not able to make decisions and that state of mind kicks in at a much later time than most family members chose to think so.
I finished my speech at the top of my lungs and in tears. It occurred to me later that I was waving a formidable 15 inch kitchen knife around like some mad conductor in the orchestra from hell. It happened to be in my hand when I started the tirade.
Mr. Husband managed to remain calm in this explosion of emotional catharsis. And I have to give him credit for that. I went to him later and apologized for waving a knife around like a mad woman and we cried on each other’s shoulder. We are both each other’s best friend and when we do not agree it’s a very lonely place to be.
So life goes on. Mom-in-law seems to have calmed down a bit. Or maybe it’s the Xanax, but we’re happy about it no matter what the reason. Hubman got her to talk to her friends who have had breast cancer and are now living happy lives and been in remission for decades. That seemed to help her a lot.
Life goes on. It’s all a learning process. Who knows how I would handle the situation if I were her. Maybe I’d be at the top of a tall building drinking from a whiskey bottle and throwing tomatoes at passersby.