Posted 11th September 2014 1320

Why the title? Because only a horrible fucking person would think the things I do. A horrible fucking self-absorbed person.

My mom just got out of the hospital after her fourth mini stroke. The first one was about four years ago and it messed me up I think more than anyone else involved. I mean, she still doesn’t even remember most of the ordeal and I think she’s the luckiest fucking person for that because if I could cut into my own brain and take out the part that remembers, I would. In a hot New York second, I would.

I had already been struggling with anxiety before that and after listening to her scream in the ER while my super strong big sister broke down because our mother didn’t recognize her, it got so much worse. I only recently stopped having nightmares about it. For at least a year after, I was having full blown panic attacks because I kept hearing her scream even when the house was silent. It might have been a form of PTSD, I don’t know. All I know is I went through my own Hell while she suffered no ill after effects. The stroke was never found on CTs or MRIs and she was fine aside from the momentary memory loss.

Everything was hunky fucking dory until May this year. I was getting my anxiety to a more manageable level and was actually looking at jobs without freaking out.

Then it happened again, this time with temporary paralysis. Nothing on CT or MRI. All tests negative. I handled this one pretty well, I think, because my dad took her to the ER and I stayed home until she was in a room - heavily sedated because my mama is a fighter even when she’s out of her mind. They released her and within 30 hours, we were back in the hospital with another one.

Nothing on CT or MRI. They did a fucking spinal tap after telling us that they thought it could be MS. It wasn’t. And they didn’t have to fucking scare us like that. Just say ‘we want a spinal tap to run some tests.’ The hospital in my town is a goddamn joke. Should have been obvious when the food was good. The worse the food, the better the fucking treatment.

Which is why when on this last monday it happened again, my dad ran her down to a hospital in another town. Apparently they could read the results of the CT and the MRI and come to the (should have been obvious) conclusion that she was in fact have strokes. And they gave actual advice on how to prevent the next one. Yay, answers.

But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s not gonna change the way she eats or make her start exercising more. My sister - who seems to think I’m like her and able to tell people what to do - is holding me responsible for this. I can’t even find the strength to tell a child what to do, much less my mama. So that’s out.

It also doesn’t change the fact that after all this, I now know exactly how much of a horrible fucking person I am because I was inside my head while she was screaming, while the physical therapists talked about the possibility she might need long term care in our home, I was there when she couldn’t remember her own name.

I was inside my head. I knew - know - what I was thinking. That if it would make all of this stop, I could deal better with her dying than having to go through this again. I would rather have her die and this be over than face every day with this pit of dread in my stomach that it’s going to happen again.

I’m a horrible fucking person and now I know it.

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