You know what? I’m pissed off. That’s right, I’m really ticked. I ask the universe and I ask God “Haven’t I had ENOUGH lately?” And the answer is a resounding no. That’s right, NO, people.

I’ve mentioned before that my youngest son has reflux. He’s had it since birth. The whole reflux thing was God’s sense of humor because before son #2 came along, I couldn’t do vomit. So for 6 years, I’ve had trial by vomit. 2, 3, 4 am, in a completely RANDOM pattern, my son will wake up and vomit. I go from sleeping to vomit. And after 6 years, I take it in stride. Like at 4 am a few days ago. Son #2 just vomits while he’s sleeping. I get up, I change sheets, I go back to bed. This is my life.

Our pediatrician in California was always very laid back about the reflux. Son #2 has been on medication for it since he was 2 weeks old and that’s just the way life is. But when we moved here when he was 4, the new pediatrician wasn’t so comfortable with the reflux. Right away he sent me to a gastroenterologist for son #2 to be evaluated. Of course the first thing that the gastroenterologist wants to do is a whole bunch of tests, including one where they put him under anesthesia. This was on the heels of a seizure son #2 had just had. He had spent 3 days in the hospital and thought everyone in medicine was put on this planet to hurt him. He would start to cry before we even walked into a doctor’s office. So I refused the testing. The gastroenterologist said “You’ll be back.”

My pediatrician kept asking me to get the upper GI series (test without anesthesia) done and I kept putting it off. Finally in December, when we were back in California, and son #2 had an ear infection and I had the opportunity to ask my old pediatrician about it. He said “It’s time, Helen.” So today I took son #2 for the upper GI series so they could rule out the possiblity of a hiatal hernia. They found no hernia. But the test showed he was refluxing (duhhhh). So they said that they needed to find the cause and my doctor would probably order the endoscopy (the test with anesthesia that I’ve been fighting against.) So I’m upset. There’s a genetic condition that runs in my family that is hereditary that is a fatal reaction to anethesia. Two of my first cousins have it. It’s called malignant hypothermia. The body’s temperature shoots up to 107 or 108 degrees and even with the patient packed in ice, they often die. This can be avoided if the right drugs are used, but it’s a risk I haven’t been willing to take. I’m pissed.

I called my mom to tell her and a big silence stretches out and she says “I’ve got more bad news.” And I already know what it is before she says it, but I wish for that instant to stretch out into eternity. That time before I know and life seems less scary. But she only lets another heartbeat pass before she says it anyway. “Grandma has breast cancer.” And the only thing I want to do is rage and scream at the entire universe for this injustice.

My grandmother is my rock. She is the only grandparent I have left. She is the one “safe” relative I’ve had my whole life. The one person related to me that I know I can trust, that I know loves me unconditionally, and the good memories I have of childhood and even adulthood, center around her. Her faith in God is what keeps me from losing mine. Because even if I lose my way with God, she’s there to put me back on the path. She is my connection to religion. She is my lifeline. And I can’t lose her. I’m not ready to lose her. Alzheimers may be robbing her of memories, but she still knows my voice and remembers she loves me. When I say “Pray for me, Grandma” I know it will go from my lips to God’s ears.

So I am angry today. Why me? What did I ever do to deserve all this? Why has Karma painted some big ass, giant bullseye on MY back? I must have been a serial killer in a former life. It’s the only explanation. And I’m pissed. Because if I don’t stay angry, this might break me……