Snoozing in the ER as our daughter got a CT scan (you get used to it), I thought my wife had left the South Side for the East Coast. Then Thing 2 got wheeled in from her CT scan, still with the neck brace and strapped to the back board because she had dropped like a rock with that last seizure. Not to mention wandering around the house and the yard wailing, “I’m dying! I’m dying! I’m dead!.”
I kept her outside because it was easier than dealing with the dogs when the paramedics came. One had put himself downstairs, but the others were itching for an ankle-level fight.
She asked, “What are heroes?”
Wife answered, “They are like lamb tacos.”
OH! Gyros! Your mother just can’t talk!
“Um, she is in no position to enjoy them and we have leftover tuna macaroni salad. How about tomorrow? How’d the CT scan go?”
“They are quieter and faster than they used to be.”
Harumph! I’m [del]much[/del] somewhat more coherent than Joyce.
Favorite Joyce story: He preferred to think of himself more a singer than a writer. A some years back, before the Euro, his likeness was placed on the ten pound note. Someone remarked how appropriate it was, as he had always fancied himself a tenor. rimshot
But no, you really don’t get used to it. Not when your little girl is wailing, “I’m dying! I’m dying! I’m dead!” Even when you know it’s because her system’s been rebooted (poorly), she has a headache, and she’s embarrassed. It’s surprising how deeply embarrassment goes in your subconscious.
I actually dread getting a job if she doesn’t stop having these. And the In Memoriam thread reminds me of poor Persephone and I don’t want anything like that for my girl.