BIG NEWS: Last week (6/30), The Blackout Blog was chosen as the Blog of the Day in am New York (a daily newspaper that is handed out at almost every subway stop in Manhattan).
So thanks to the powers that be for the recognition. And if you're ever looking for a guest writer... (slash person to book or movie deal slash reality show).
My actual birthday was the day after, and I spent it in the hospital.
Let me backtrack to Thursday. My 85-year-old mother’s mother, who lives in Queens, decided she was going to use the stepladder to hang new curtains in her house. Nana’s very active and in good enough health, so I’m sure it didn’t seem like a big deal to her. She got to the last set of curtains and fell off the stepladder.
Nana drug herself, not to a phone to dial 911, but into her bedroom where she remained on the ground for at least a couple of hours. Nana lives with her younger brother and sister, both of whom are disabled and both of whom will do whatever our family matriarch says.
So no one called 911 until a neighbor came over and called against her will.
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| image from straighttothebar.com |
The hospital confirmed that Nana had broken her hip and cracked her clavicle. Meanwhile, I was having a slow day at work. I thought it was strange when I saw my mother calling because she had called the day before (we usually talk weekly). As soon as I picked up the phone, I knew I’d be going to Queens. Once she told me the story, I was, of course, willing to help. Really, all she wanted me to do was spend the night in Nana’s house to make sure nothing tragic happened overnight with my uncle and aunt. But Nana’s house is really far from Manhattan. I woke up the next day with red eyes from the pollen from the suburban vegetation (it’s still the City of New York, but they have a lot of trees and grass out there).
My mom had flown up by Friday and was splitting her time between the hospital and Nana’s house. So the morning after my party (shut up, the doc said it was a good place to break one’s hip), I went out on my actual birthday to visit my grandmother in the hospital in Manhasset (Long Island).
After arriving to find no cabs waiting at the station (usually there are at least a couple at LIRR sotps) and waiting another 15 minutes for a cab from the company I looked up on my phone, I made it to the hospital. Nana was in good spirits and recovering well (they already had her up and walking the day after the surgery). An older cousin of mine who lives on Long Island was visiting as well. Nana was actually on the phone when I walked in.
Me: “Was that my mother?”
Nana: “Yes, she said she’s on her way.”
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| image from terratrike.com |
I rolled my eyes and called the taxi company to schedule a pickup.
Nana: “Why’d you do that? Your mother’s on the way.”
Me: “God knows when she’ll get here! She said she was on her way when I left Penn Station an hour ago, talkin’ ‘bout we’d get here about the same time! I was hoping she could pick me up from the train station.”
Nana: “That’s your mother…”
Me: “[Sarcastic Cousin] was telling me in her email about your roommate.”
Nana: “Oh, yes! She was a character! She would be singing gospel songs and praying all loud! And then when the nurses came in, she’d be like, ‘Who are you! What are you doing here!’ Just yelling at everybody! [Sarcastic Cousin] was getting annoyed, but I thought it was too funny! And when it came time for her to be discharged, she was carrying on that she didn’t want to leave and that she wasn’t going anywhere. And for all that fussing she did, you didn’t hear a peep out of her when her daughter came. So you know something was going on there.”
We talked for another half hour before my mom walked in.
Nana: “You know, I have a bag that looks a lot like that.
Mom (holding up the knock-off Louis): “This is your bag, mother. I didn’t exactly have time to coordinate when I was packing, and I know how many bags you have… And I was going to bring some clothes for you tomorrow. You were saying you wanted a dress–”
Nana: “I didn’t ask for no dress.”
Mom, who was standing behind Nana’s chair, made the same this-woman-is-crazy face that she always makes (specifically at me) when she’s talking to her mother. The face that makes me think, aren’t I going to be doing the same thing when you get this old?
Just then, we heard a commotion outside of our door. They were moving another patient in with my grandmother. I didn’t see whom they wheeled in (I was trying not to be too nosey) but there were at least 5 people that entered that side of the room.
Italian Woman: “You need a CAT scan! For your head! Nurse, can you take a look, please? The arm in the parking lot hit her on the head and knocked her down.”
I thought they were joking. Then I saw the nurse parting the hair of a young woman sitting in a visitor’s chair.
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| image from ohgizmo.com |
Daughter: “I’m fine! If it were that serious, I’d be bleeding or there’d be a bump.”
Woman (more emotional): “Honey! You could have brain hemorrhaging and not even know it! We’re at a hospital! For goodness sakes, get it checked!”
Daughter: “This isn’t free, mom. I’ll have to pay and do paperwork.”
Woman: “Don’t worry about the money! I’ll pay whatever it costs! You have to get it checked!!”
Daughter (walking out): “Fine.”
Woman: “You have to make sure she gets that looked at.”
Husband (wearing a [likely real and very gaudy] Louis-print messenger bag): “She’s just gonna tell you what you wanna hear and not do anything. Just relax and worry about you.”
Woman: “Please! I won’t be able to rest until I know she’s okay!”
Husband (aggressively): “No! Don’t you dare pin this on me: this isn’t my responsibility. She won’t even listen to me to make a damn left turn. You’re not pinning this on me.”
My mother and I escaped to the cafeteria. On the way, I got her take on the old roommate.
“She wasn’t even singing old negro spirituals. They might have a couple of lines from the original song… but then she had a line about hoping nobody attacked Obama while he was president. And her favorite was ‘Thank God, I have five children, and none of them have [sic] any birth defects!’ But then she’d turn around and curse the nurses out! This one nurse put her on the bedpan and told her to call the nurse when she was done, just because that’s a good line to exit on. Her response was, ‘What? Do you think I’m stupid! Of course I know to call the G. D. nurse when I’m done!’”
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| image from wtfmetro.com |
When we got back to the room, the Italian roommate was still fighting with her husband.
Woman: “Oh, who’s gonna take care of the house?”
Husband: “Mel can handle it.”
Woman: “Mel?!”
Husband: “Yes, Mel! Hell, he’s does it better anyway!”
Woman: “What does he do better?”
Woman: “What does he do better?”
Husband: “Well, the cleaning.”
Woman: “Oh, God in heaven, you guys will starve!”
Husband: “That’s a mighty stupid thing to worry about. You always worry about the stupidest things.”
The whole time, the husband was using a surprisingly aggressive tone of voice that I’d never heard my father use on my mother growing up. Meanwhile, we were on the other side of the curtain almost in tears trying not to laugh out loud. When the husband said the last line, my grandmother lost it. And very audibly so. I was almost right along with her when I saw my mom give her own mother the what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-you look.
Me: “Hey, Mom. Can you take me to the station? My train leaves soon.”
Cousin: “I’ll take him!”
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| image from stickycomics.com |
My cousin suffers from diabetes, and, in addition to being on dialysis multiple times per week, she walks with a cane. And of course, it was a good 100 meters to the parking lot. I really couldn’t think of a tactful way to say that she was going to make me miss my train, so I gathered my stuff and hoped for the best.
I strolled at an uncomfortably slow pace beside her to the elevator and out the front entrance of the hospital. When she said she needed to rest outside the doors, I resigned myself to my fate and texted Grrber that I’d be a half hour later than anticipated for our pre-dinner drinks. We had to cross a street, and the light changed. Then we had to take the elevator in the parking lot. Then she had trouble buckling her seat belt. Then she had to dig through her purse for money to pay the parking attendant. By the time we pulled out, I had about 3 minutes to catch the train.
When I finally jumped out of the car at the station and barked out a “Thank you!” before slamming the door, I saw the screen say 4:50 to Penn Station: On Time. It took a good two minutes for me to remember that the Long Island Railroad has this sadistic habit of not updating the screens in the stations until at least 5 minutes after the train has arrived and left.
“Happy birthday to me.”
I and way too many hot girls with mediocre-looking boyfriends pulled into Penn Station about 5:55, and by 6:10, I was in the Village. Grrber wasn’t at Chow Bar when I walked in.
Hostess: “Are you waiting on someone?”
Me: “Yes, he should be here soon.”
Hostess: “Ok, do you want to sit at the bar?”
I ordered a mojito, one of their happy hour specials, and played with my iPhone. It was when I ordered my second mojito that I texted him:
He finally walked in around 6:45 carrying an envelope with my initials on it, wondering how I got from 34th st to west 4th so fast (dude, it’s 3 train stops!). We had a couple more drinks there before heading to an Italian restaurant up the street for dinner and a bottle of prosecco. He finally let me open the envelope, which contained a rugged leather and metal necklace that matched the one he was wearing as a bracelet. After, we headed to G Lounge for Küte and danced until it was way too late for both of us to be heading to work the next day.
Did I mention this was a pretty awesome birthday? Yeah.
Click here to check out my 25th birthday party.
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