A trip to see my grandmother has once again left me in a slightly irritable mood. She sits in her bed, thumbing through a Harlequin romance, the remains of her dinner mashed beyond recognition on the plastic hospital issue tray. She browses through the strawberries we have brought her, while telling about her birthday party yesterday.
She seems to be very happy that my uncle is writing a book. Apparently it is very well written. I wonder what he will call it. Confessions of an Embezzeler maybe, or possibly How to Steal Thousands From Little Old Ladies. All I know is that I won't be buying it. Grandma will though, because she still believes that he walks on water and talks with God.
Inevitably her end of the conversation moves toward her discontent about being confined to a hospital.
Once again she tells us that her wheelchair bothers her. It is uncomfortable and more importantly, it is too wide for her to be able to reach the wheels. She wants another one that is narrower. The only problem is that if she had a chair that was any smaller, she wouldn't fit into it, but she doesn't seem to realize or appreciate this fact.
She also complains that she can't go anywhere either. That is because she is too heavy for the wheelchair lifts in most busses, and her wheelchair is too big. The administration at the hospital has also said that except for emergencies, she should refrain from using the elevator as well, for fear of overloading it.
The diet that they have put her on is restrictive, and she doesn't like the fact that she is not allowed to buy chocolate bars.
She also doesn't like the fact that she will probably never be able to walk again, because she is overweight, and has no muscle whatsoever in her legs.
I think I can see a reocurring theme here... and it irritates the hell out of me that noone mentions it to her.
Maybe it is just that I've spent too much time talking to my mother.
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