Now I'm in limbo. My mother told me last night that Nana had a relapse and that the medical staff truly felt there was nothing else they could do. I made her promise to call me as soon as she heard something. No call. I call my sister - she hasn't heard anything, but she has the waiting room phone number. The waiting room has been a week-long wake/redneck party that Momma hates to have to witness, but there's been a steady stream of family camped out in there since Nana was readmitted. Today no one answers the phone in the waiting room. Thanks to HIPAA, I can't call the hospital and get her status, because there's no way to prove who I am over the phone, since I don't have the secret numeric code which will let the front desk know that I'm a family member. I cancelled a trip to visit my son in Atlanta because I don't know what's going on. And the phone in the waiting room just keeps ringing...
I've never been good with expressing emotions. I always felt that emotions were a sign of weakness - part of being raised as my father's "son", I suppose. Lately I'm having a hard time bottling up those things that bubble up when people start flinging arrows and stones. Some I deserve. Others, less so. Innocent comments get taken out of context and used to further some cause. I make a genuine post about an overwhelming feeling I have, and someone turns it into an accusation, based on some sort of internet statistic that proves I've posted in response to something else. Frankly, I don't see the connection. I get angry more often than I used to, but I often feel like I've been kicked in the gut too. I'm not accustomed to that one. It usually brings tears. Intended kindnesses are perceived as attempts to control. And this post will be labeled as an attempt to send someone on a guilt trip - but hey - if the shoe fits, baby, wear it out.
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