So my thoughtless, evil sibling calls me up yesteday and leaves me the following voicemail: “Mom’s been rushed to the hospital again. She’s bleeding profusely (he actually used the phrase “bleeding like a mutha-fuckin’ sonofabitch”) from her nose and ears.” Click. The end. No explanation. No follow up.
So naturally, I’m freaking out. I’m thinking, “It’s a toomah!” I’m thinking brain hemorrhage. I’m thinking alien parasites. I’m thinking nanite-sized Hobbits are using their big-ass crusty, hairy feet to turn me mums noggin of al dente spaghetti into soggy pasta pudding. (Sounds like Orc mischief to me!) But mostly I’m thinking, “I don’t wanna drive 4 hours! Waaahhhhh! I’m tired!”
Does that make me a bad daughter? Yeah. I thought so.
By the time I arrived, it was nearly over. She had lost 3 pints of blood (from her nose!) and looked like a homicide victim. Turns out it was a ruptured blood vessel in her nose, and her new arthritis med (which shall remain nameless, but is in the NSAID category) was keeping her blood from clotting. And she was NOT bleeding from her ears. My brother is a squeamish drama-queen.
Aside from losing a new robe & nightgown to unsightly stains which will NEVER come out, the mumster is fit as a fiddle. She even got a nice set of scrubs out of it.
What did I get? Nothing. Nada. An aching back from driving 4 hours there and 4 hours back. Well, that and my mom’s okay. So I guess that’s something. Heh. Bad daughter!