Happy, happy, joy, joy

I’m alive.

Hun, that’s always a comforting statement to make.

Well, the not so fun week became the not so fun two weeks and you better be listening Powers that Be because it’s over! You hear me. No more of this not so fun crap. We’re moving back to happiness and flowers and cute puppy dogs. (For another day- the new puppy at work, not so cute and sweet.)

So, to recap, Chloe fell last, last (whatever) Saturday and broke her nose, chipped her teeth, bloodied her lips, and scraped up her face and arms. So they took her to the hospital. Not fun. Not fun. But patch her up, send her out. Right?

Nope.

Her chemical stuff was all out of wack, she had a urinary infection, and her diabetes stuff was just plain wrong. So the hospital has kept her since yesterday morning and that‘s just because John threw a hissy fit and took her home. Since Chloe is missing a large chunk of her brain and can’t remember anything new they put her in the crazy-in-the-brain wing of the hospital while she was there.

Oh yeah, it was really great to be able to look down the hall about five or six doors and see the room my grandmother stayed in while they “treated” her for terminal brain cancer just over a year ago. Fun.

Also since Chloe is kinda crazy, and when her chemical stuff is all screwed up she’s even more nuts, the nurses were unable to tell when she was telling the truth. When she said she didn’t have to go to the bathroom. When she said something hurt. When she said she wanted to check herself out. Or, one of my favorites, when she said she needed to get to Mexico. (I think the nurses figured that one out) So somebody has to play interpreter.

Then, come Saturday, John got back the results from his medical exam he took just before Chloe fell. He has cancer. Wow. Just more freaking fun. The good? Supposedly it’s completely treatable, fixable, gonable. The bad? I get to be crazy Chloe translator.

The nurses looked at me like I was crazy every time I told them something. “No. She does have to go to the bathroom.” “No, she doesn’t have to go to the men’s club.” “No, don’t call her mother, she’s dead.”

So while the Ohio shindig is going on I got to walk Chloe down to get an MRI as she tells me about the Christmas decorations we’re gonna put up in a few hours. I’m still coping… maybe I’ll skip the coping and keep right on with pissed.

You know how much sleep you can get when you’re sleeping in a sleeping bag on a couch in the loony wing of a hospital? Not that much. You know what kind of food you get? Bad egg rolls. Never eat hospital egg rolls. Why the hell do they even make egg rolls? Stick to what’s in the vending machine. Monday I got bored so I only ate orange things from the vending machines. You’d be surprised how many orange things there are. Orange pop, orange juice, cheese crackers, cheetos, orange ticktacs, cream swirls, those nasty honey bun rip offs, cheese lay’s chips, and orange skittles (I gave the rest to Kenny). There were more orangey things but not quite orange enough to fit my strict criteria.

Also, the longer you hand around crazy people the easier it is to think you’re nuts.

I got home yesterday, after they let Chloe go home, and slept all day. All day. Got home around two and went to bed. Didn’t wake up till this morning. Ahhhhh.