Holy Mother of…

Lately I’ve had this theory that my parents are fucking with me to get back at me for…well, being ME as a kid.  And a teenager.  And probably for the time I was a shit last week.  My most recent evidence of this came up not even 24 hours ago.

Last night I called my mom to let her know our wedding invitations had arrived (!) and asked if she wanted to come by and look at them.  We made small talk, she mentioned that Dave had made a yummy dinner if we wanted to stop by and then… 

She answered, “No, not tonight.  We’re on our way to the emergency room.”

Me: “WHY are you going to the hospital?  Are you guys OK?”  Thinking that surely it must be to visit a friend since she said “We’re on our way to the emergency room” in the same tone as “I’m on my way to a pedicure.”  Basically, no big whoop.

Her: “I think I have a blood clot in my leg, so I need to get that figured out.”

Me: *Almost faints from hearing the words “blood clot”*

I offered to meet her there but she declined nicely, saying that the exam rooms are small so they’d likely make me sit in the waiting room with “A bunch of gross sick people and I don’t want you to catch something.”   Ed and I stayed home and I tried to remain calm and take my cues from my mother’s “Let’s not panic until we have something to panic about” attitude while Ed was basically being Dave what with all of his declarations that “This is NOT good, you know.  Like, this is serious stuff.”  Thanks honey!  Be a dear and pass the Valium?

Long story short she did NOT have a blood clot in her leg and is at home with her leg elevated.  We have big plans to hang out and I will do my best to keep my voice from getting too shrill when talking about how if she thinks she has a blood clot she shouldn’t work a full day then drive home from her office – which is an hour and a half away from home – and THEN casually trot off to the ER like “Hey man, whatever.” 

At least she had the good sense to be relatively OK, but holy hell, now I need to go to the hospital to deal with my alternating hyperventilating and feeling like my heart was going to stop beating.

Well played, Mom.  Well played.

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