"Way to be there"
My rental car has more than 111,000 miles on it, reeks of cigarette and marijuana smoke, and is filthy inside and out. There is enough brake dust on the wheels to choke a horse and make someone I know clutch his pearls and declare it "atrocious" in all caps.
And my grandmother may or may not be dying, two and a half weeks before her 101st birthday.
This dispatch is brought to you by exhaustion and Tito's. Apologies for all the typos that are sure to follow.
A tennis friend convinced me to join a local league. I played my first doubles match on Sunday. My assigned partner was great. Solid on ground strokes; loud and vocal ("I GOT IT!!"); competitive yet positive; the type of person who claps one hand against the face of her racket to let her opponents know they made a great shot.
And every time I was at the net, whether or not I executed a successful volley, she'd shout at me, "Way to BE THERE!"
Yesterday, a text from my grandmother's caretaker: For two days, my grandmother hadn't eaten much, refused to be helped out of bed, was having hallucinations, etc. etc., and based on her experience, the end could be very soon, and Hospice Round Two Electric Boogaloo starts now.
I got on a plane at 6:30 this morning, thinking this was goodbye.
And as that plane was starting its initial descent, this text, from the same caretaker: "As soon as she heard about Margaret’s visit, she became very responsive and her appetite came back. It was a complete turnaround." That same caretaker told me an hour ago, in person, that in all her years in this business, she's never seen such a dramatic change in a client's condition.
Another caretaker confirmed this. Apparently her partner said "Good morning!" to my grandmother today, and my grandmother responded, "You shut up!" Feisty once more.
She also asked the caretaker to get rid of the wrinkles on her face before I arrived. And when she was told that the hospice nurses were coming, she announced, "I'm not ready!"
Everyone else seems to think this is great news. That an almost 101-year-old woman who has been physically incapacitated since December 2020 is suddenly talking and willing to eat again. Because I'm here.
It wasn't easy to get here. And I don't mean the flight. Here comes the comic relief portion.
In June, my apartment flooded so bad that the floors had to be replaced. As I was moving all the furniture out of the main room, I was also packing for two weeks to go to Pennsylvania to take care of one of my favorite dogs. In the midst of that chaos, I saw my credit card lying on a surface, and made a mental note to grab it after I was done with 18 other tasks.
My short-term memory said "LOL fuck you" and I still haven't found my credit card. It is my only credit card. I am 99.9% sure it is in my apartment somewhere. I check online every day to make sure no one else is using it. So far so good. I don't want to cancel it because my laptop remembers it, as does my phone, my EZ Pass, and 500 other auto payment situations. I know that I will not find my credit card until I actively start looking for something ELSE I can't find.
Because my laptop knows my credit card number, I was able to buy a flight out to SF, and also rent a car.
Or so I thought.
When I got to the Sixt counter, they said, "OK we just need to see your credit card."
"I don't have it. Can you use my debit card instead?"
"No."
"Do you take Apple Pay?"
"No."
"Cash?"
"No."
"Can I have someone else call with their credit card?"
"Only if they show up in person with that credit card."
"So you are telling me there is no way I can rent a car from you."
"Correct. We have issued you a full refund. You can try Budget, they might be easier."
I headed over to the Budget counter. The lady was great (she lowered my rate because of a COSTCO membership!!) and there were cars available. I handed her my debit card. She turned the screen around to show me the problem. They need to run a credit check on anyone using a debit card, but my credit report is frozen because of that massive Equifax breach back in 2017.
I sat down against a wall, and used the FREE PUBLIC WIFI to unfreeze my credit report. I mean, what could possibly go wrong there??? According to an email I got from Experian this week, my SSN is all over the dark web anyway.
I got back in the Budget line, same problem again, their computers still said my shit was frozen. The lady pulled out her cell phone and called someone. I heard her say, "Burgundy hoodie and glasses," describing me. She told me someone was coming in 10 minutes. His name was Fred and he rented to "people like you."
There has to be a Law & Order: SVU episode that starts this way.
I sat and waited for Fred. Fifteen minutes later, a man approached me and said, "Come with me." I asked, "Are you Fred?" He said, "No, he is my boss." The man's accent — along with his scowl, haircut, trainers, and tight cargo pants — told me he was either Russian or Ukrainian. I followed him outside to an unmarked car, snapping a photo of his license plate and texting a friend in case I was about to be kidnapped. Wondering what kind of ransom you can get for a 51-year-old childless woman. And if I could name-drop Leningrad, like, "hey be nice to me, because I sort of know some Russian rock stars."
And that's how I ended up with a grey market rental car that smells like weed.
And yes, I checked: A Lyft to my grandmother's house 90 miles away would have cost $131.
Now that I'm here, it's the same patterns and rhythms as before I left. Conversations are brief, mostly about food. My grandmother wanted pizza for dinner so I got pizza for dinner. In a few minutes I will go sit by her bed and talk to her about tomorrow's breakfast. It will either be bacon, pancakes, or a donut filled with lemon-flavored pudding. Between meals she will sleep while I go to Costco and the grocery store. I hope I'm not here to witness the aftermath of the every-three-days suppository.
When my grandmother does die, my family owes her caretakers first class airplane tickets back to the Philippines to see their families. One of them has a 16-year-old daughter, and aging mother, and she hasn't seen either of them in two years because she's had to provide 24/7 care here to a woman she's not even related to. She's a goddamn saint.
The question is what happens once I leave. If my presence is what is keeping my grandmother alive, it follows that my leaving will result in decline/death. Which would be a blessing for someone so stubborn and independent who is now completely unable to do anything for herself, and whose body is failing. And which would create, for me, more guilt than the Catholic church could ever even hope to heap on one person.
"Way to BE THERE" is helping, right now. I showed up. It made her eat. It made her happy. But I can't be at her net, racket in hand, every week, just to keep her alive.
It makes me want to forfeit the game entirely.
Links
The bald power of Sinead O'Connor. (NYT)
Related: An interesting podcast episode about her. (Buzzsprout)
What really happens to the clothes you donate. (GQ)
SF driving disaster, one block away from where I used to live. (Boing Boing)
Florida Man birthday meme. Mine is "Florida man arrested after slapping woman with slice of pizza." (Mashable)
Respecting Taylor Swift for giving massive bonuses to everyone working on her tour. Hoping this is standard behavior on all these huge tours, and that corporate CEOs are paying attention. (Consequence)
How to disable a self-driving car: Put a cone on it. (Guardian)
Clever DC license plate (for the children). (Instagram)
A simple exercise for people who hunch over computers all day and are in pain. (Instagram)
If these 1960s fuchsia Pan-T-Boots were available in my size I would buy them SO FAST. (Etsy)
Doctors confirm McConnell had a stroke after imagining a happy Black person. (Onion)