Today was a bit stressful- it seems there was a miscommunication between two of Mom-Mom's cardiologists, and she was discharged from the hospital (which is good, of course!) before a test could be performed.
Wait, let me back up.
When she went back to the hospital on Monday, it turned out that she had indeed had a massive heart attack. There was quite a bit of damage to her heart, of course, and right now, the best course of action seems to be very confused. The opinions of both cardiologists seem to be a thousand miles apart, and since she only has one heart, I would prefer some kind of consensus. I mean really, it's like having a sick kitten and one vet says "Let's do some tests to see what we are working with", and the other vet says "Oh, God. Cats are stupid anyway. Just step on its head".
You get the idea. So, in my pushy, busybody, I-feel-a-compulsive-need-to-involve-myself-in-everything way, I (along with my sister) have been trying to speak to both doctors, perhaps get them to speak to each other, and then try to figure out the best path, one that will make Mom-Mom's quality of life the very best it can be. And I do not think that just sitting back and waiting for the next big, painful heart attack is a reasonable path, despite her health problems.
She said to me last night "I'm 87 years old. And I've done okay." She's not going to feel any regret if she passes tomorrow or passes 20 years from now. But she also said John Stamos is hot, that the doctor for Octo-Mom should have his balls cut off, and that ladies don't fart in public- instead, go find a quiet corner and "fart your fucking head off". Pardon her French.
Maybe I am stupid, selfish, blind, naive, whatever. Maybe I am thinking more about how I want Mom-Mom to hold my babies.
I just feel like there is a little more life there.