Me: I’ve been trying to call you back and can’t get you on either number.
Her: I am having serious issues right now. They had to call a dr in and a very bad diagnosis. Maybe you won’t have me around to bother much longer.
Me: What did I do to warrant that?
Her: Have (insert the boyfriend’s name) so far in your ass that you don’t care (if) I die as long as he don’t. It is too important that he has dinner. How disgusting.
Me: And I’m done. I’ve tried. I love you, Mom.
Her: Yea for (insert the boyfriend’s name). Sorry after 30 years I don’t matter any. Guess I can’t suck your dick and give you AIDS.
I didn’t respond to that one. How do you? What words work there? I’m very rarely speechless. I was. Honestly, speechless.
The backstory: The boyfriend went to the hospital by ambulance last Saturday. There could be a WHOLE other post on that and it’s related stress. For the sake of brevity, I’ll say he is feeling better now, but still needed a good bit of attention last weekend.
My mother came to the hospital on Sunday for what we now know is a bone infection. She was right. I couldn’t leave the boyfriend and go to the ER with her on Sunday evening. I’d asked my sister to go and for whatever reasons she couldn’t do it either. So, she went alone. She was admitted. I went the next day and the day after that.
On this day, I’d been asked to go to a local baseball game with some friends. I agreed to go. I needed a minute to be around non-sick people and also wanted a chance to get the boyfriend out of the house for a fairly non-exerting activity. My plan was to stay for a few innings and then trek back to the hospital to see my mom. She’d already called with requests for fast food (she’d been on the cardiac diet) and slippers (she’d lost hers somewhere between the ER and her hospital room).
It was during the 4th (or so) inning when the above text messages were exchanged. She’d gotten the bone infection diagnosis and had been told how it would be treated. A bone biopsy on the foot and then daily IV antibiotics that would require home health to visit for the next several weeks.
I never found out the diagnosis or treatment from my Mom. Those are the last words we exchanged. My sister had to tell me.
I’ve luckily spent the past couple of days with my chosen family. Great friends who are standing beside me, hugging me, and being more indignant that I can bring myself to be. I sort of expected this would happen. I’d been hoping it wouldn’t, but knew how she felt. It was really only a matter of time.
I write about it here only because I’ve been chronicling the fights with my Mom. I felt like this was the most succinct way to let friends know who haven’t seen me in a few days.
And maybe a request. To quote Rufus Wainwright, “please be kind, if I’m a mess.”
