Updating a blog is harder than I thought. Of course, blogs are pretty much online journals (unless they're advertising traps) and I have YEARS between my journal entries...
So if anyone is reading this and cares, consider yourselves lucky that it's only been three (?) months since the last update.
But, I do actually have a good story.
My wonderful Grandma Carr, who was the inspiration for the title of this blog, passed away on the 7th of this last month. I was there when she passed. I have never kept a death-bed vigil before, and I have to admit it wasn't all that I expected it to be. It was certainly a lot less lonely than I thought it would be. My whole family, including little cousins who didn't quite understand what was happening, managed to pack themselves into my grandparent's tiny bedroom. We were all weepy, but most of us were also smiling and telling stories about what we remembered about her best of all.
(I remembered the dress up box. She would always get it out for me and my sister when we asked. It was full of dresses and wigs and crazy outfits she wore to pageants and plays. Grandma was quite the actress. I wish I had inquired more closely about the history of some of those articles, but me and my younger posse of blood relations were usually too busy creating new histories for them in Middle-Earth or Fairy-land.)
When it got to be time for her to go, we started singing hymns. We are a musical family, but our singing at this time was not the best, being decidedly choked and off-key. I don't think Grandma minded too much, though, and we did make up for it at her funeral. It's funny how we don't realize how amazing some people are until after they are no longer with us.
Anyway, that Thursday night, before the funeral, I had the most horrible stomach cramps I have ever had in my life. Only by turning on my stomach could I get any rest. The next morning, I was not feeling too good, but I was a good student and I was going to go to class, and then to the funeral. Except, I threw up. Horribly. All over the bathroom. I knew something was up, because I didn't feel any better after I tossed my cookies. So I went to bed again, and left my blessed, good-hearted, true friend of a roommate, Kaitlyn, to clean up my awful mess. I SKIPPED CLASS. I slept until ten minutes before Grandma's funeral, only to be awoken by a phone call from my parents reminding me what time it was and where I was supposed to be.
By some miracle, (and the kind-heartedness of a family friend) I made it to the church in time to walk in and sit with the rest of the family. I was glad it was a funeral, because I'm sure I looked absolutely miserable. My stomach hurt throughout all the proceedings, but I actually did enjoy the lovely thoughts family and friends gave about my Grandma. She was the sweetest, kindest, most scatter-brained, funniest person that has ever been. She played watermelons at the grocery store and got other people to do it with her. She ran outside to greet old friends in her underthings. She started the car every morning on pure faith. She listened to people. She took an interest in their lives and really loved them. She danced and sang and played the piano like she meant it. She was the best drama queen actress ever. She liked her hair, and wore curlers in public in the morning. She taught her children how to pray. She loved dogs and grandchildren and laughed when I said something funny, every time. She had a lot a friends and family come to say goodbye to her at that funeral. A lot of them performed with her in the Christmas pageant "The Savior of the World." (If you've never seen it and are in Salt Lake around the Holidays, go see it. One part musical, one part miracle play, all good.) I broke down when they sang "Come Lord Jesus." They sang much better than we did at the deathbed.
So I actually had a pretty good time at the funeral. Who would've thunk? But, you know, my stomach still hurt, and I went back to my apartment directly after. My parents offered to put me up for the weekend, but I declined, citing the paper I had to finish by Monday.
Hah. The irony.
I laid in bed all weekend, doing absolutely nothing but sleeping and staring into space. By Sunday evening, my roommates were pretty worried. I was apparently green by this point, you see, and hadn't kept anything down since Thursday. The parents were called. I was collected and taken home, a short 20 minutes away. They nursed me for a couple more days before deciding to take me to the doctor.
At this point, let me give you some advice. Avoid being hospitalized at all costs. It is not fun. It's cramped. The beds smell weird. You have people bustling around at all hours of the night. People poke you with sharp things. The food stinks (once one can actually eat it.) I believe that they purposely design hospitals with the aim of making a patient want to get out of one as soon as possible. It's like reverse psychology.
I was in that wretched place for five days. At first it didn't matter, because I didn't have enough energy to care or even to THINK THOUGHTS, but eventually thought and reason returned, and when they did, it was pretty boring. There's only so many hours of TV you can watch before your brain starts to melt out your ears. The only good thing besides getting the MRI (It's like riding in a spaceship! Honest!) were the visits. I wasn't up for a lot of interaction, but I sure felt loved when my roommates came to visit and brought me well wishes, or my aunt stopped by and read The Princess Bride aloud to me, or when my grandparents brought me flowers, or when my parents came to just sit with me, or when my neighbors came to check on me. You know who the wonderful people in your life are when they brave the awful hospital smells to come and cheer you up.
Note: Bring sick people flowers. It gives them something to look at besides the blank, white wall.
Eventually I got out of the Big House and was sent home with enough antibiotics to stock a medicine cabinet. Fortunately it was Thanksgiving Break, so I didn't miss too much school. I was even able to eat my favorite things at Thanksgiving dinner (namely pie, pie, and more pie).
In the subsequent follow-up visits, it was revealed to me that I had had a Very Bad Colon Infection. The doctor proceeded to draw helpful pictures on the sanitary paper to help me understand how close I had been to losing a very important part of my guts. "They don't do colon transplants," he said. And: "You were this close [tiny space between thumb and forefinger] to having a major organ fail on you."
Wow. I had expected near-death experiences to be more...exciting. Mine had been rather disappointing in that regard, and I hadn't realized it until after the fact, but one musn't quibble, I suppose.
So there you have it. Two close encounters with death in as many weeks. It's made me think, certainly. Mostly it's just made me feel "dangerous and nifty" (in the words of my Auntie Summer), but I look back and realize that this was a Hard Thing. One of the most difficult things I've ever had to deal with, in fact. And I pulled through okay. I guess I am stronger than I thought I was, although I'm sure that that was the effect of a lot of people praying for me when I couldn't pray for myself, as well as a good deal of Divine Intervention on my behalf. I'm sure my Grandma had something to do with that part.
In short, I feel like a miracle child! I'm grateful that I am so well taken care of. Nothing is more comforting than knowing that people on both sides of the veil have got your back. Now I just need the medical bills to go away...
No comments:
Post a Comment