Because I HATE hospitals…

Here I sit watching my mother sleep. Its comforting knowing she is safe and has no choice but to be cared for.

Shitty way to get a day off though.

She takes care of my grandmother. My grandmother aka “the ancient one” per my nephew is not able to live alone anymore.

I think she would be if this damned pandemic never happened. Instead she has shut herself in and so has my mom.


Neither of them are well. Both are disabled in their individual ways. My sister visits every weekend like a good daughter should. Me, I visit when I can make time.

Truly though I am lazy about it. Not that I don’t want to come here, but that I don’t want to… Im not “good with people”. I talk when I’m nervous. Im opinionated. Im bossy. I feel like they are relieved when I go home.

Well, not today.

Once again I made plans to do stuff at home that will continue to go undone. Son anf dad left to their own devices which I am sure they prefer as well… Im not there making them do stuff.

I knew something was wrong this morning. I get this feeling of dread and panic sometimes. Usually 15 minutes or so before I get a call from someone to tell me something bad has happened.

This morning it hit me in the shower. I was all flustered and had this mad rush of dread about my family, then panic that someone was seriously hurt. Im not sure why, but I always brush those feelings aside as if they’ve never been followed by THE CALL.

This instinct has never been wrong. I wish it ), which is probably why I try to ignore it. But. Nope.

I just finished dressing and ring, ring… Here I sit. Im in a relatively surprisingly comfortable reclining hospital chair looking at my feet which have not begun to swell for the day.

Its like they know… I HATE hospitals!




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