growing up

I’m writing this while in a hospital room at Lovelace. No, I’m not the one admitted; it’s my 94-year-old great aunt, my Tia. I have a love/hate relationship with this hospital. I love it at the moment because the two nurses who have been on their rounds are dolls. They’ve been very nice and attentive. I HATE it because this marks the 10th day Tia’s been in a Lovelace hospital.

She came in to the main hospital because she wouldn’t stop bleeding and for some reason unknown to everyone, they transferred her up to the West Side Lovelace last Thursday. Why? So she could see an urologist. Turns out, there was a “miscommunication” and the urologist wouldn’t see her until Tuesday. TUESDAY! Long story short: they transferred her (AGAIN) back to the main hospital and finally gave her a diagnosis of Acquired Hemophilia. I don’t exactly understand what it is; all I know is that it’s not very good. In fact, the doctor said he’s never actually seen a case of it, and when I looked it up online it said it was a one in a million probability.

With that said, I wasn’t around when my Nana died, or the days and weeks leading up to it, and I felt really disconnected with my family because of it. I have a bug to travel and live in places besides Albuquerque, but when situations arise I feel guilty for not being home. I’m just glad that right now, as I type I am looking at Tia.

On another note, I’m facing the awkwardness and difficulties of growing up. I have a full time job that I’m in love with and a boyfriend who I’m madly in love with. My relationship with my parents is something I never want to take for granted, and even though I live the life of a hermit, I know my friends are always there for me.

Sigh. That’s another topic that’s awkward. My hermitesque life. I don’t like going out late anymore. Unless I’m out of town, know I’m walking home or have a lovely designated driver, I don’t see the purpose in going out and partying anymore. I not only don’t have the energy for it anymore, but the zeal and adventure is lost. I love my weekends. I love to sleep in even if it’s just 15 minutes later than a weekday, and when I go out and drink my day is gone. My weekends are precious. I work 9-5 everyday, and even though I know that could be a lot worse, it’s enough for me.

I enjoy staying home and having “date nights” during the week with Kenn, tooy. We talk to each other while we’re watching the same show thousands of miles and two time zones apart. It may seem as though I’m ignoring my social life, but I don’t have the option of getting in my car and driving ten minutes to see my boyfriend. If watching “How I Met Your Mother,” “Grey’s Anatomy” or “Battlestar Galactica” in my pjs in the comfort of my own home means that I’m lame, then yes; I’m Lame with a capital “L” and I’m absolutely OK with that.

*sidenote: Now I’m just getting frustrated again. At 6:45 I called for a nurse to come help her use the restroom. I heard nothing. At 7 pm I tried again. A woman said she’d be right over. Nothing. Then a nurse came by to check vitals; I told her she needed the restroom and she said she’d get someone over to help her. Nothing. I just (7:20) went out to the nurse’s desk and asked for someone. A nurse went around and said “Kris” would be coming in. It’s been five minutes. SERIOUSLY…come on now. Ten minutes later. Someone just got here. Finally.

I guess I’ll finish this blog up by saying I feel as though I’m in an awkward place. I have a desire to move out and essentially grow up – move out of Albuquerque and see what else is in store for me. But at the same time I’m very comfortable right here, very comfortable with everything.

Maybe I need to take note on a conversation Jeff and I had YEARS ago when we came up with a “quote to live by”: “Always force yourself into an uncomfortable place. Stay away from your comfort zone in order to develop a new one…go with the flow."