8/4/17

Garbage Girl
Aug 8, 2017 · 2 min read

What is worse than your mom having stage four cancer in her breasts, brain, bones, liver and lungs? I will tell you what is worse. Your mom having stage four cancer in her breasts, brain, bones, liver and lungs in Miami, Florida in fucking August. And what’s more, that mom being Marie Keith. The most dramatic patient of all time. Day 1, and I take her to receive an infusion. We managed to get there on time, which is a miracle in and of itself. I am always late and trying to get Marie anywhere is like trying to herd cats. Cats who need to run back upstairs real quick for a third sweater option, an emergency poncho, an English muffin. So the fact we were punctual seemed like a good enough omen.

Omens are a load of horse shit. Before anything goes wrong, my mother is mawkish and over dramatic. Every thing has to be a made for tv movie moment. It was easy to agree to help when I was away and heard of my mom being sick. Of course, I’ll go and be with her every step of the way. These things are said with ease when there is about 2000 miles between us. We’re in the waiting room for a total of 15 minutes before I’m threatening to smother her with a pillow.

We’re laughing until the nurses are giving us a bit of a run around and then the hysterics start. She works herself up in to a tizzy, I’m trying to tell her to stay calm — to no avail. You can’t steal a scene opportunity from Marie. So now she’s bawling, begging me to go talk to the nurse (but what she really wants is some terms of endearment type showdown) as I am trying to fumble and put headphones in her ears, like a pacifier. “Here! You’ll like this podcast just listen.”

I barely have time to ask the Nurse what the deal is before the nut case is behind me wailing, and demanding answers. If I looked like the golden daughter before then, that went away when I turned around loudly whisper for her to shut the fuck up and go sit down. If it were possible for my mother to have shaken baby syndrome, I would have already inflicted that upon her by now.

In the car, I try to be less prickly, and reach for her hand. I hold hers as I give a softly declare-in more or less words- that I am the captain now.

I didn’t think this would be easy but I kind of thought this would be easy. I think I can use this personal strife to not be self destructive but instead throw myself into something positive. Like an eating disorder.

Garbage Girl

Written by

Live from the land of garbage