Note: the Bookworm Burb has been way updated. Now I've flagged all new additions with a "new" button. And practically everyone is talking about Harry Potter. Also, if you're interested in Harry Potter, the Leaky Cauldron mailing list (for journalers and readers who are HP fans) is currently talking about the newest book.

And here's the picture of the fam that I promised a while back. Since this entry is about my fam, it seemed appropriate.

Mom, Grandma, Lucy's parents, Lucy, Abby, me, Dad.

My mother called me today, at work, to give me an update on Grandma.

They're going back to the hospital tomorrow, because Grandma is getting weaker. She was very constipated a while back, until they gave her some disgusting laxative to drink (yeah, I remember that, UGH) and ever since then, she's had the... uh... opposite problem.

She also hasn't been eating-- the doctor wanted her to have some Ensure, and my mother tried giving it to her eight million different ways, but it was a no go. So Grandma has been eating maybe two spoons of Jell-O per day, and that's it. When my mother told me Grandma wasn't drinking Slim Fast or Ensure, I said, "Wow, that doesn't sound like her." I mean, I don't know about Ensure, but Slim Fast tastes pretty good. And Grandma doesn't usually flinch from drinking anything that's good for her, even if it's disgusting.

She's also been having dizzy spells. She's having problems getting out of bed, or walking from the couch to the bed, and she's been vomiting. She's also been having other accidents. You know, the really gross kind.

Needless to say, I'm worried about Grandma. But I'm even more worried about my mother.

I hadn't mentioned this, but my mother has been having some tests done herself. She had an IVP the other day... the exact same test I had, when they were checking for kidney stones. (Speaking of those gross laxatives...) They found something that they know is not a tumor, but they think is a kidney stone.  The reason they did the test in the first place is that she was finding blood in her urine.

(An aside: I was being tested for kidney stones, too, but turned out not to have them. I said to my mom, "Are you sure you didn't tell God that you'd rather be the one to have the kidney stones?"  That's exactly the kind of woman my mother is. She'd rather suffer the pain herself than have anyone else go through it.)

As if the kidney stone wasn't enough, my mother has had her period for three months straight now. Every day for three months. Her periods aren't natural-- the brain tumor precludes a normal cycle, so they give her artificial hormones.  She's perfectly normal most of the time, but when something starts to go wrong, I get unduly frightened. (Oh yeah... I forgot... Mom has a tumor. Fuck.) Biologically, I don't have to worry about Grandma's cancer for myself. But my mother now has a "history of cancer" and a tumor herself, so it's hard not to be fatalistic.

Matt suggested this constant menstruation thing may have something to do with menopause. I brought that up to my mother, and she gave me a verbal shrug. But I think it's a smart theory. Who knows how her body will handle it when she's supposed to be going through menopause.  She's 51 now... maybe that's what's going on.

However, it's not the physical problems with my mother that I'm really concerned about. I'm concerned about her emotional well being. She said she's drained of energy, like, all the time, because she has her period. In addition, she has to care for Grandma, which also takes a lot out of her.

This would be plenty in and of itself, but the other members of my family are causing problems, too. My mother is a worrier, and my sister is a drama queen. Dangerous combination. 

I now have to interject the latest Drama of Abby, as it has a bearing on this story.

Alice has started drinking again (she's an alcoholic who had just passed one year of sobriety) and turned verbally abusive to Abby the other night. Abby, like an idiot, called Ash. Ash just made the situation worse: "If you don't come home now, I'm going to be mad at you." When I finally spoke with Abby, I tried to talk some sense into her. "There's no need to bring Ash into this, except to create drama," I told her. Of course, my sister lives to create drama.

Lucy's there today (thank god, a voice of reason) and things have calmed down. If Alice doesn't get her ass to a meeting, they're going to move to a motel.  In the meantime, Abby keeps talking about coming home-- she's worried about Grandma, she misses Ash, etc.  Well in the meantime, when my mother heard the "abusive alcoholic" story, she freaked out with worry. My mother and I have been on pins and needles between my sister's phone calls, trying to gauge how much of this is serious, and how much of it is Drama.

The last time I spoke with Mom, I suggested that if Grandma's health looks really bad, maybe Abby should come home. My mother responded that Abby "doesn't have the stomach" for blood and vomit and excrement, and she feels better with Abby in New York.  I think part of it is that she doesn't want Abby's histrionics in the house. But she says, "I worry about her, and pray for her all the time." Of course she does.

Feeling bad for my mother yet? Wait. There's more.  I haven't gotten to the issue of my father, who is acting like a giant, 60 year old, baby. 

He's always had a contentious relationship with Grandma, which stems from his central problem in life. Dad is an old fashioned guy, and he always wanted to be the provider. Unfortunately, dad's career never went the way he wanted it to, and they've always been dependent on Grandma for money. This kills my father. It's caused strained relations between him and Grandma and between him and his sister, Lucy's mom, who has money. But that's a long, long story, and I've veered far enough off the topic already.

As I was saying, he's always had a problematic relationship with Grandma.  As Abby and I were growing up, he was resentful of her daily involvement in each of our lives and especially her control over my mother.  She lives the next street over and was at our house every day, always poking her nose into everything. In addition, she gave us money (for our cars, to name one example) and my father was unable to do the same.

So.

My dad has a habit of being resentful, and he also has a huge need for attention.  So whenever my grandmother is sick and living over there, and Mom is taking care of her, he WHINES at my mother for attention. You would think he would have a little more consideration for my doormat/saint of a mother. You'd think by the age of 60, he'd be a little mature. However, he isn't, and he doesn't. 

So let's review. My mother has to deal with her own health problems, her mother's failing health, my sister's long-distance drama and my father's crankiness, all at the same time. 

Then today, she was saying she is worried about me not finding a place to live in San Francisco. "I keep having nightmares that you're living on the street." I reassured her that I'm not going to go live on the street. I said to her what I always say to her. "Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself." It's like my mantra. I can't stand it when she adds worry about me on top of everything else she has to deal with. 

And this has been the pattern for 20 years. My father has always been needy. My sister has always been an emotional basket case. My grandmother has always been imposing herself on my mother (obviously I don't blame her in this case, but it's historically true). And me? 

I've always tried to be independent. Keeping my problems to myself, pushing unpleasant emotions out of the way. I have my escape mechanisms (books, food, friends) and keep myself out of the situation as much as I can. In a way, I'm desperately trying to protect my mother from further worry. The unfortunate side effect is that I've also alienated her to a certain extent. And I haven't been actively helpful at all.

I tell you all this, not only because it's on my mind, but also because I realize I should be more helpful to my mother. She claims she'll worry less about me if she knows more. I doubt it, but I'll trust her on this and give it a shot anyway. 

I can lend emotional support to my mother by spending more time with her and talking to her. I wish I was strong, like my mother and grandmother, and I could offer more tangible, physical support. But I don't have the stomach for bodily fluids either. When it comes down to it, I don't have the heart to see my grandmother suffer.

I guess I'm lucky. My heart doesn't matter at all; I just have to be there for Mom.  Because my mother has the proverbial heart of gold.... and it's big enough for the both of us.

I will never forget the time I was sitting around my room with Tim and Max, my two most stoic friends. Tim, especially, never admits to having the slightest emotion about anything. Sheepishly, the two guys admitted to me that they both cried at the end of Where The Red Fern Grows.

Has anyone not cried at the end of this book? If Tim cries, everyone cries. That's my theory.