Ruptured Appendix and a Navel – It’s Good Being Old

I rarely feel like a grown up, but thanks to Holly Jr., I am continuously reminded that I am old.

Thursday night, driving home, stuck in traffic, looking forward to my three-day freedom.

Then a phone call.

Holly Jr. — for those who don’t know my 15-year-old sister — is in the emergency room. Stomach pains, swelling — looks like appendicitis. To wrap up the suspense, after the long-awaited cat scan results, and many calls back and forth, it’s confirmed.

So, my Thursday night was spent in the pediatric ward of the hospital, sleeping on a vinyl couch next to the loudest Icee machine in the universe, walking to surgery, and in the recovery waiting room, until finally crawling into bed at 4:30 a.m.

Back at the hospital, with a much awake Holly Jr. — who said she couldn’t talk that much because of the pain, but somehow still managed — is when I got another healthy dose of “You are old.”

My mother was at home changing and I was keeping watch, trying to get her to rest, but thanks to modern technology it was near impossible.

Now, I did not keep count, but I would venture to guess that she slipped in about 200 text messages in the span of an hour. I threatened to wrestle the phone away, but got the eye rolls and the dramatic groan, so I let it be. After all fighting your sister who just got out of surgery is probably frowned upon.

But seriously. First of all how on earth were these kids texting — they were in school??? And secondly, the kid needed some rest. This is when I realized that I am not only grown up, but I’m a full-fledged adult.

I actually could not understand why she would rather spend her time writing back and forth than sleeping.

Somewhere along the way, being a teenager just gets sucked from your memory. I completely forgot how at that age even the smallest absence can threaten the careful little life you’ve weaved — who knows what could happen in just one school day. How the tiniest things are considered of the gravest importance, let alone actual surgery, which is like 25 on the Richter scale of traumatic events.

So, I eased back, and in reality it was really comical. Like Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. People she barely talked to her were sending urgent texts.

As we were to come to find out, apparently the story that was circulating was that Holly Jr.’s appendix had burst and had to be sucked out of her belly button. Hahahaha. Classic. Another reminder of those teenage years.

You get through it, move on it, and when you look back, or see television shows, or movies, you begin to think all of the drama and crazy rumors, wild mis-truths and myths, are just exaggerated stereotypes of being young.

Then there’s a group of teenagers who honestly believe my sister nearly died due to a ruptured appendix that had to be rushed out of her navel, and you think, “Wow, that’s how it is.”

Well, luckily Holly Jr. is doing just fine. Still in pain but at home. Nothing burst, though her hospital roommate’s appendix did and the poor thing was in a world of hurt. I think her belly button was OK though.

And on the very upside, I may feel old, but for the first time in a long time, I’m actually happy to be an adult.

Laugh it Up

Ahhh..the comedy of life.

There are times — few maybe — but times indeed where I try to take life seriously. I attempt to do the right thing, speak from the heart, be sincere — then I am reminded that the world, and in everyone in it, is one long continuous joke.

Your pants split at the wrong time, you get toilet paper stuck to your shoe, you spend 45 minutes in a room of people before realizing your shirt is unbuttoned at precisely the wrong spot, or you stand up from the pew at church with your skirt stuck in your stockings.

Then there’s the comedians, the incessant sarcasm. Every night growing up in my house it was like an audition for the Laugh Factory. Good training I suppose, but sometimes you wish you could just turn it off.

I do not laugh at myself because others will laugh with me, I laugh at myself because I really have no choice. At one point you just have to accept that your life is going to be a series of hilarious antics, like a very prolonged episode of “I love Lucy.”

Like hmmm……for instance yesterday. Oh, I cannot believe I am writing this. It was certainly not my proudest moment, but definitely follows suit.  As I mentioned previously, I have a brand new Nissan Sentra, which got a tad dirty over the weekend. So after consulting with my boyfriend and telling him I was afraid to use ArmorAll because of potential damage, he convinced me it would be OK. I grabbed the bottle, took it outside, was careful to apply in small patches and not spray directly on the interior. Only to have my boyfriend come out, look at the can, and ask me why I was using oven cleaner.

Terrific. Me, a never-ending punch line.

I do wish though sometimes that others would cooperate with me. It takes a lot for me to get in touch with my emotions and say something without cracking a joke, or adding “that’s what she said.” So when I say something serious then I think it should be acknowledged as such and not material for the next great joke.

Having said this I do realize that I cannot offer the same consolation to others, but that’s different — I’m damn funny.