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Bunglin' Bundy

Bunglin' Bundy
Hail the King of Mediocrity!

Monday, August 16, 2010

Dysfunctionally Fun

I've been considering writing a book about my family. The working title at this point is "WTF". This may be subject to change, depending on where I go with the story. I'm not even sure if I'll be in it. I may know more after the first chapter.

Not too much left of the family. We started out a big, happy, loud mouth Italian bunch, and then people started to die and marry Germans. My family knows how to have fun. They have wild and crazy get togethers at which people grow closer and congeal together like jello. I'm not usually invited but I hear things through the grapevine.

Still, I long for my remaining family members the way my poodle longs for an extra biscuit before bedtime. I even sit up and beg once in a while. Because of that I had been planning a nice little family brunch with my generation and a few of the younger half breeds for several weeks. I Emailed, called, texted and threw a bit of guilt around like fairy dust to get as many family members as possible to accept my invitation. I was really thrilled with the response. It seemed my family wanted to be together as much as I wanted them to be together. I had many warm fuzzy moments over it. I knew we would all enjoy the company, the setting and the food. I was so right.

I was so absent.

A few days before our little event was to go off, mother needed to be taken to the hospital again.
Mother is not good in a hospital. She loses her sense of time, space and the names of her children. More specifically, she can only remember mine. (also, her manners have been shot to hell for at least the last three years, so tending to her is not a real pleasant job.)

On Thursday, we sat in the emergency room for four hours while they poked, jabbed, prodded, folded, spindled and mutilated mother. And mother complained bitterly, in between labored breaths, about the physical abuse she was suffering at the hands of the medical staff. Several quarts of extracted blood and a potty full of urine offerings later, she was diagnosed with Congestive Heart Failure again and admitted to the hospital, kicking and screaming and calling me names.

On Thursday evening, a very tired sounding nurse called me to let me know my mother was refusing to have a chest xray and a kidney scan - which was, of course, of the utmost importance to determine what and how much medication was needed to treat her illness. I ran over to the hospital to bribe, threaten, cajole and weasel momma into getting the xray and the scan if she ever wanted to sleep in her bed at my house again. Everything was rescheduled for the next day. Crisis diverted.

Only until Friday, when she forgot that she was going to have these things done. Another call from another harried staff member and another drive over to the hospital to go through the whole routine again.

Saturday morning, mother calls and asks me why I haven't come to pick her up at the house where I left her. She doesn't know anybody there and she needs to leave. Another hurried trip to the hospital to convince mother she is not at a stranger's house and that there is a reason for her to be where she is and to stay there. We eat breakfast together and by the time I leave she seems to be more clear about where she is and why.

Saturday afternoon and the bad romance song plays on my cell phone -"why did you leave me at this house? come and get me right now. I don't even know where they put my damn teeth!"

Back to the hospital I go for more of the same. After an appetizing (not) hospital kitchen dinner, contraband caramel apple pie and more contraband starbucks, mom once again seems cognizant of her surroundings and agreeable to hanging around for the sake of her health. Great.

Not so great.

Early on the morning of our family get together, Lady GaGa sings loudly in my ear. My cell phone is lying on my pillow next to my head. "This is Judi Newman from Shore Memorial Hospital. I'm your mother's room nurse. Your mother took off all of her monitoring equipment and tore out her I.V.'s. She's refusing to let anyone touch her and is all dressed and ready to leave. Only she shouldn't leave. When can you get here?"

My sense of urgency is dulled from all the running back and forth to the hospital so I take a shower, deep condition my hair and dress for the upcoming brunch, which I have been looking forward to for three weeks. I arrange with my husband to meet at the hospital so we can leave together and get my show on the road.

When I arrive at the hospital, mother is eating (mushing up) her breakfast. "Get this stuff packed up for me. I'm going home after I eat. Don't forget my teeth in the top drawer." She is dressed from head to toe and missing all of the devices that monitor heart, pulse and a slow trickle of blood slides down her arm from the hole she made getting the IV needle out of it.

I march out to the nurse's station.

"Are there no professional medical people in this friggin' hospital?"

"What's the problem", a male nurse in tight scrub pants asks me.

I take him by the hand and lead him to where my mother is happily gumming up the last of her pancakes.

"This woman is #1- bleeding, #2 - demented, #3 - suffering from congestive heart failure and #4 - is planning to leave the hospital against medical advice and NOBODY here is trying to talk her out of it!!

"We can't keep a patient against their will."

"I need to speak to her doctor. I need to speak to her NOW! And I am going to report you as being lazy, unconcerned and negligent (and entirely too sexy) as soon as I see the nurse in charge.

To make the rest of this long story short:

The doctor arrived, Nurse McDreamy got written up, mother was medicated and advised that leaving the hospital could result in her imminent death or worse, no more Gunsmoke reruns, clothing was removed and pajamas donned, lunch was served and I was the only one to miss my well planned family gathering.

But everyone has been kind enough to tell me what a great idea it was , what a good time they all had and how fabulouso the food was.

Family. How I love 'em.

2 comments:

  1. Gotta love how a plan comes together...you can take heart in the reunion being YOUR idea!!!
    Very funny writing...stop by the HIDE A HEART blog where you can also laugh and cry a little HERE
    Hugs,
    MCatherine

    ReplyDelete
  2. Dory, I'll have to come back to read some more. Wonderful posts here.

    ReplyDelete