In Case of Emergency

I had a post all ready for today. It was about the new coat I bought, which is green and has big cargo pockets and is extremely trendy. I intended to write about how I saw it in the store, and I saw it was a small, which would have been my size, but when I tried it on it was HUGE. The sales lady made a pitch for it anyway, something about how oversized is super hip and thus it's totally the right size, but I wasn't buying. I was about to walk out of the store when she called to me -- "Hey Wait! This is actually the Men's small."

D'oh.

I am a total dumbass.

She handed me the woman's small and guess what? It totally fit. Like totally. And I bought it.

I was going to write about that but life had other plans. My grandfather calls my house at 10:30PM while me and my mom are peacefully watching tv (and I have yet to find out what happens on the latest episode of House BTW...) He says my grandmother is really sick -- fever, sweating, irregular heartbeat and chest pains. Now as my grandmother is 81 this is no laughing matter. My mom decides she has to run up to the Bronx and be with Her mother, and I decide it is my noble duty as daughter and granddaughter to accompany her. That was absolutely the last thing I felt like doing, of course. I felt like watching House and reading my book and generally getting to bed at a reasonable hour.

But that's not how life works. Not ever.

So we trek up to the Bronx, where my grandmother looks worse than I have ever seen her. We make the executive decision that she needs to go the hospital, especially because she is moaning loudly that she feels as though she is having a heart attack. We make a big production of getting her dressed and loading her into the car (which involved a lot of carrying on the part of me and my mom).

And when we are half way to the hospital, with my equally old and feeble grandfather following behind us in his own car, my grandmother announces that she feels totally fine and jeez, why are we making this big fuss anyway.

Oh no. Me and my mom stare blankly at her and then insist that she does not feel well and she better continue to not feel well once we get to the hospital --this trip better be worth it, especially as time is passing, the night is progressing, and the two of us are becoming increasingly exhausted.

We get her there and they hook her to machines and attempt to stabilize her heartbeat and do a lot of things that generally make us feel as though bringing her to the hospital was a good idea. And then um..... well the truth is.... I came home.

I still feel guilty about it because my mom is still up there doing God knows what with my grandmother who is feeling God knows how well. And I have to wait here, impatient for updates.... but there was so little I could do besides sit in the waiting room and, well, wait, that I decided I was better off waiting at home and getting to sleep in the meantime.

But I'm glad I was there. Very glad. Because, to be frank, my mom's response to any emergency is to immediately switch into panic mode, and someone has to be there to regulate the situation. And to tell my grandmother she still looks every bit an elegant lady, even as she sweats and moans and...

Oh God. I never should have left.