10/06/2012

Life is busy as hell fight now.  School is insane.  I don’t know how it became October.  I have a paper to write here in a minute, but I needed to come by.

I have this cousin.  If you read me way back when you would remember the side of the family I call the Third World Family.  They are horrible, filthy, dirty, lazy people.  Cigarettes are more important than food.  Bathing is important only when you leave foot prints of filth behind you.  Family members get them food because we can’t stand to see an empty pantry.  These people don’t have to live like this, but they choose too so that they don’t have to get a job.

Anyway, I have this cousin who is a member of this family.  She is only a year older than me, but when I went to the hospital to see her last night she looks to be in her 50’s.  She turns 33 on her birthday next week.  She has MS.  She was diagnosed about seven years ago.  Back then she was a six foot, 300 pound giant of a woman.  Her hair was beautiful gleaming brown and she carried around a set of DD’s from before we were twelve years old. 

The woman I saw laying in that hospital bed last night was so bent and contractured that she couldn’t have been five feet tall.  If she weighed more than 115 pounds it was because of the diaper she was wearing.  I’m glad her eyes were closed.  I couldn’t have looked into hollow eyes.  Her hair was in a greasy knotted tangle.  She smelled like pus and old folks home.  The ventilator is doing all the work for her.  She has at least six bags of fluids hanging up around her.  There was fresh blood on both sides of her neck where the doctors had just put in two central lines.

I looked at here lying there and hoped she would slip away.  I’m a horrible person, I know.  If she survives this infection or whatever thing it is going on in her body she will go back to being a vegetable in that horrid house with those horrid people who let her back become one massive pressure sore.  A pressure sore to bad you can see her tailbone.  They let her lay there and rot because smoking and pretending that she is going to be fine tomorrow are what they do.

I hate them for her.  I want to strangle her mother who sits by her side pretending to cry.  I hate her for wanting to go to some fast food place and stop for another pack cause she can’t run out of cigarettes right now.  It would be too much stress for her.

I hate myself for not going over there and checking on her.  I hate myself for not doing something.  I don’t know what I was supposed to do.  They used us before until we couldn’t give anymore, but for some reason I feel like I should have done more.

Mandy

Ovarian cancer: It whispers, so listen.