The One Where Elly Has To Play Nice
It’s common knowledge in Firewife land that firefighters compartmentalize everything. It’s a coping mechanism that lets them go on with the job. It’s not a skill set that I have. In fact, as a lawyer, I’ve been trained to see everything from all the possible angles and take every possibility into account. In normal life it’s a pretty good pairing. He can keep me (somewhat) focused and I can get him to see indirect effects of decisions. In order to focus on the rest of the day, I was going to have to take a page out of Ace’s Rules Of Life and start to put things in mental boxes and only deal with one box at a time. HEY NEW STUFF THAT WORDPRESS DECIDED NOT TO PUBLISH THE FIRST TIME AROUND AND INFACT LOST: So, while I kept my mouth shut in the hospital room, something I’m not particularly good at doing, I let my fingers do the talking and sent off furious texts to the few friends who knew what was going on. Their responses were perfect.
I have good people. And I think without this here dang modern technology I’d have SERIOUSLY gone bananas. I had one friend throwing me “horny sheep” from Facebook’s collection of things you can message to people to make sure I smiled. I hope everyone has some “people” that are this great.
They were supposed to do the angiogram at 8 in the morning (which is why I got out of the house at the ass crack of dawn) but by 1 they weren’t there to do it yet. I had to pick up the kids at home and then drop them off with their grandmother so I left the hospital, not happy about it, and took the kids and some clothes over to grandma’s house. We are really lucky that Grandma could take them for a bit, although it came with some tradeoffs that we’re still dealing with.
My SIL, who has the tendency to make everything about her (no seriously, our family trip to Yellowstone last year, became a conversation on how much she was disrespected and disregarded and her soul not taken care of on THEIR family trip to Yellowstone in the 80s) proceeded to tell me that I HAD to keep her informed (uhm, no, I don’t) because she was SO worried and she never thought SHE would be this worried if something happened. And then she said how much of a BLESSING it was and how it was a GIFT FROM GOD that this happened on Valentine’s Day and more verbal vomit. I stopped listening, gave her a “shut the eff up” look and said “no, stop, this is not a conversation I’m having.” And I turned around and walked out to get back to Ace. I probably should have just taken the kids with me and found a different situation for them. But…I had to play nice, so I sorta did. (Note: She is not a bad person, in fact she’s very nice and cares a lot, but this wasn’t the time or place for her issues to be indulged.)
She hasn’t spoken to me since. I’m okay with that. She’s only spoken to Ace twice, both times he told her that he could not deal with her and she would need to hang up. He’s okay with that too. She causes him a lot of stress right now, and the goal is as little stress as possible. These are all things we’ll deal with at some point, but not right now. I raced back to the hospital, I wanted to be there when they talked to Ace, I already felt left out of the process and Ace wasn’t being great about giving me the whole story. I’m still not sure how much of that was intentional or how much of it was he just felt so poorly that everything was a bare minimum with me because he didn’t have to be ON or he thought I would make connections and jumps that I don’t make.
By the time I got there they had done the angiogram (which if you’re at all squeamish, don’t ask for a description of how they do it.) And they found he had a 90% blockage in his Lower Anterior Descending Artery (aka the widow-maker) and a 70% blockage in one of his other arteries. He had two choices to consider, a stent or bypass surgery. At 36.