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Mom Took Sick

BudLiteGood morning, y’all. Good news! The shrink says I’m making real progress in sharing my feelings. The word from my sponsor is that I’m towing the line straight and narrow. Maybe there is something to all of this touchy feely crap. Hold on to your hats, I’m about to give you a few more shovels full of touchy feely.

As I mentioned in my earlier post, Mom missed her opportunity to walk on those “streets paved of gold” back on New Years’ Eve day this year. In my opinion, she missed her opportunity many, many years ago, but, I’ll not dwell too long on the differences of my valuation of her life’s work, as opposed to her self-evaluation. Long story short, she was knocking on death’s door, and it is a matter of opinion as to who was going to answer. Smart money is on Beelzebub.

December 31, 2014, New Year’s eve day of 2015, I am at home here at TackyToo, out on bail, awaiting trial that is set for the 15th of January. Mulva had relented and gone bail for me. I was able to return home while I waited for my “just desserts” in the matter of vehicular homicide of a fiberglass bee. The predawn morning is shattered by the phone ringing. I see by the caller ID that it is my sister Charlotte. Now, the thing about caller ID is, like anything that gives a glimpse into the future, your imagination will take you either way. A call from the bank can mean that they made a hundred dollar error in your favor, or, that your paycheck bounced. It’s 50-50, it could go either way. Not with Charlotte, it’s 100% all of the time going to be bad. The question is, “bad by how much?” At this particular juncture of my life I am like my step-daddy George used to describe as, “being in Hell with your back broke”. Now, I’m about to find out from my sister that this little spot of Hell that I occupy is right below the septic leak.

“Mom’s sick, she needs to be in the hospital”, Charlotte whines into the phone.

“Why are you calling me”, I respond, “why aren’t you calling the doctor?”

Charlotte whines, “she won’t go to the doctor, she says she has an appointment on the 15th, she’ll go then”.

“Well fine, take her then”, I say.

Charlotte drones on, “But Edna says Mom’s blood pressure is 70 over 45 and that she really needs to go to the doctor”.

Edna is our aunt Edna who helps Mom maintain her “independence” by running errands for Mom, and, generally keeping Mom grounded in reality. Well, I’m no doctor and I know that 70 over 45 ain’t good.

“Jesus Christ”, I say, “why didn’t Edna call the EMT’s?”

“Edna didn’t want to fight with Mom helping her get into the ambulance”, Charlotte whines, “it would just break Edna’s heart”.

At this point, seismic equipment all over the world begin to pick up enormous changes in the Earth’s crust centering in North Georgia near a town called Nonsuch. I feel the heat in my ears.

“And what did you expect me to do?”, I hiss into the phone.

“We thought you and Jackson could come up and take Mom to the doctor, or the hospital, whichever you think is best”, Charlotte whines on.

“I’m nearly three hours away, even if I can leave town, which I don’t know that I can”, I retort, “Are you all just going to leave her there until Jackson and I can get there?”

“Well, we’re just at our wits end and don’t know what to do”, Charlotte continues to whine, “Mom called Monday night and wanted me to stay over there because she thought she was having a stroke, but I just thought she was faking to get attention”.

What followed was ten minutes of self serving clap trap that I basically tuned out while I explained to Mulva what was going on with my hand over the receiver of the phone.

“Is there anyway you can get Mom to the doctor?”, I interrupted.

“Well, I could call Maggie to see if Mom would go with her”, Charlotte whined. Charlotte then proceeded to go into a ten minute character assassination of Maggie, Jackson’s daughter who lived in Asheville.

“Well then, for the love of Christ will you call Maggie and get her involved while I see if I can leave town?”, I replied. “I’ll call you back when I hear if I’m allowed to leave”, I said. 

“Ok, bro, and I’ll let you know if Mom makes it to the hospital”, Charlotte chimed.

The use of the term, “bro” ruffled my feathers beyond description, but I needed to calm down before calling the appropriate people to see if I could leave the state for a day or two. Phone calls were made, promises were made, considerations given and a couple of hours later I’m throwing my duffel bag in the back seat of my 1977 Pontiac Firebird, Smokey and the Bandit Edition. I am headed out for Asheville. The three hundred horses growl, the cassette growls louder, “When you’re goin’ down the road at night, and you feel the Wild Turkey’s bite”. I pop out the cassette. No sense inviting more trouble. It’s 6:30A.M. and I’ve taken my coffee to go. I drive with the confidence of a man who knows he can pass anything on the road but a filling station. This is not going to be pretty.

We’ll continue tomorrow.

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