Suzy Says

Warning: what you are about to read is a big, fat downer.

I usually try to keep things fairly fluffy and frivolous around here, because I am mostly fluffy and frivolous. But sometimes you just get overwhelmed.

This June is may have actually surpassed the previous record of horrible month held by June, 1996, in which my brother’s dog died, my father’s dog died, our old family friend Allie Cave died, and my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, followed by a radical mastectomy.

As I write this, my older sister Beth and stepmother Margaret are meeting with St. George’s Hospital. Today, right after our first Father’s Day without our father, also happens to be exactly ten months to the day since my father died, and they are meeting to discuss the wrongful death suit we have brought against the hospital. In keeping with the fluff rule, I probably haven’t mentioned here before that my father’s death was due solely to medical malpractice and incompetence, which adds a deep layer of misery to the grieving process. It is easier to accept the sudden death of a loved one if it was due to a terminal illness and couldn’t be prevented or stopped, than it is knowing your father is dead because of a series of stupid mistakes. If they can’t reach an agreement with the hospital, and I doubt they will, we’ll take the case to court, which means re-living all the horrible details until the conclusion of the case. All we want is for the hospital to admit their negligence and to re-evaluate their procedures to make sure this doesn’t happen to anyone else.

A couple of weeks ago, my mother went in to have a mole checked and the doctors told her it was melanoma. They did tests and discovered that her breast cancer had metastasized as well. More tests followed, and next Friday the results will be presented to a board of cancer specialists and they will decide the best way to attack the cancers. We haven’t given up hope, but she’s definitely looking at serious chemotherapy and there is a possibility that I will lose my remaining parent.

Yesterday, my younger sister Megan was sitting in her little red Geo Metro at a stoplight in Fort Bragg when a van rear-ended her, smashing her car into the van in front of her. Thankfully, Megan is OK, but the car is totaled. It sends chills down my spine to think that her car was essentially destroyed when it wasn’t even moving. I hope the next car she gets is good, heavy, American steel, like my Mustang. I know rationally that she’s OK, but all I want to do is go up there and see for myself.

I hope the Fates, or whoever runs these things, is done with us for this month, because I don’t think I can take much more.