She’s in hospital again. For those of you keeping score, that makes four ER admissions at three different hospitals in exactly four weeks. This time, they’ve managed to keep her overnight, which is nothing short of a miracle.
So, it was another round of frantic phone calls, another disjointed game of clue, and another night without sleep. I didn’t bother calling my father this time, and I won’t until I’ve spoken with a doctor.
I am so sick of this I can’t even tell you.
I did speak with an ER nurse tonight. When I spelled out our family name, she pronounced it perfectly, which led me to suspect that she was Serbo-Croatian. I am not ashamed to admit that I milked this minor ethnic coincidence for all it was worth. Hell, I would have sworn allegiance to the worm-ridden corpse of Marshall Tito if that’s what it took to get someone to talk to me. Jebiga.
For my trouble, I learned that my mother is stable; that she is being treated for an acute kidney infection; and that her doctors are investigating the possibility of diabetic kidney disease. If she actually sticks around long enough for them to complete the diagnosis, it will confirm my own, which makes me feel good about my research abilities if nothing else.
I will call the hospital again before I set off for work tomorrow. Then, providing the woman doesn’t contract the Ebola virus or Avian flu in the meantime, I will prepare to celebrate my birthday in a manner properly befitting the occasion: i.e., by getting drunk off my ass and picking up a couple of sailors.
Good riddance, August. You fucking sucked.