"Hi, Mom, how're you doing?"
"I'm having a heart attack."
Well. What do you do? Three degrees outside, snow plummeting down, and my mom decides to have a heart attack during Snowmageddon.
Okay, so my brother lives closer. Got him on the job. Straight to the hospital. Again. Feels like home these days.
The doctors don't think it was a heart attack. Inflammation of the sack around the heart. Or something.
I said, "Mom, next time you decide to have a heart attack, please do it in the Spring."
This was met with typical gloom and doom.
Gallows humor seems to be the only way to react these days. Or give in to my mom's self-pity party, strap on a hat, twirl a sparkler, and announce, with much gusto, "Huzzah! Everything sucks!"
Personally, I think she's been given a miraculous second chance with her heart operation. Thank you, anonymous cow organ donater. We'll call you Bessie. But it's time for Mom to go kick her heels up again in Florida, dancing with all the randy elderly gentlemen.