Paging Dr. McDreamy

My dad's voice this time was different. Calmer. Worried. But like he'd been expecting it.

Your sister found your mom unconscious in the basement. I'm on my way home now. I hope I get there before the ambulance.

I had been on the way to the grocery for the second time. On my first attempt, I realized I had forgotten my cell phone and, fearing possible car trouble, turned around (never having actually made it to the store) to get it. A couple minutes later, my phone rang. I didn't make it to the grocery that time, either.

This time was different, yet all too familiar. Same ER. Same time of day. Same family members holding vigil in the waiting area.

Like last time, she's back in the ICU. For observation. They can find no possible reason she would collapse, twice, and remain unconscious for hours. Last night Dr. YawnsALot met us in the ICU and told us that, while Mom was stable, they would be running the normal abbreviations. EEG. MRI. EKG. WTF?

This morning, I was hoping that, like last time, we'd march into Mom's room and she'd be awake. Tired. Weak. But awake. She wasn't. And as of 8 o'clock this evening, she still wasn't. This is like last time, but like all sequels, things have to get just a little more fucked up.

The doctors have all but told us that they're grasping at straws and have absolutely no explanation for Mom's situation. Dr. McNotDreamy, between poking my mother in the face with a safety pin and pounding on her legs with a mallet, told us that if they did happen to find out what had caused her . . . episode (?) and that if they found out how to fix it, they'd have something publishable. Whatever motivates you, Dr. McNotDreamy. Can you please tell Dr. House about this? He could solve it in less than an hour and then I would heart him forever.

I was holding it together fairly well, aside from having evil thoughts about the hospital chaplain (who meant well, but really, I just wanted her to leave us alone and no I did NOT really want to pray but, because I am polite and would have felt awkward leaving the room, did anyway). Who does that, though? I had evil thoughts about a (wo)MAN OF GOD.

The holding it together lasted until I called my friend Mary and proceeded to leave a five minute voicemail, first crying and then laughing about crying and then generally going locobeans until the Verizon lady jumped in and told me that I'd reached my time limit. Thanks, Verizon lady.

Now I am at my apartment. Doing laundry. On a Saturday. Is it Saturday? I keep losing track of the day. I'm hoping my dad will call after he calls the ICU. I told him not to call unless he had good news, such as Mom woke up long enough to exchange a few words with the nurse. So here I sit. Waiting for my phone to ring so I can quit being Gloomy McSadPants.