Thursday, January 11, 2007
7:30 a.m.

My mom called me crying last night to give me the results of my dad’s surgery/biopsy, which was a bad start. He has to get his bladder removed. Apparently there were cancer cells, and that is the best remedy. I guess they will fashion a new one out of the small intestine. He’ll be in the hospital for about a week, and his “new” bladder should work as normal. Thus far, this is better news than I expected from the sobbing on the other end. I think my mom is a little dramatic. I told her it could be a lot worse – it could have been the prostate, kidneys, a bag (I don’t know the name for the urinary equivalent of the colostomy bag), etc. I also told her that this is nothing compared to all the surgery and hospitalization I went through. That’s right, let’s bring it back to ME. So unless there’s something she is not telling me, this isn’t great news, but it’s better than it could have been.

But this morning I cried during my work commute, thinking about how horrible it would be if things went awry, like they did when I was in the hospital. I was still pretty young and lucky to survive, despite all the medical knowledge and technology available. My dad is almost 64 (he has his surgery consultation ON HIS BIRTHDAY. More tears just for that.), and it’s harder for older people to recover from major surgery. I would be devastated if his condition worsened and he never got to see my niece and nephew grow up. As much as he drinks and can be a tactless asshole sometimes, I love my dad. He’s awesome in his own way. He is responsible for the angry, narcissistic, ranting bitch I have become.

As I cried, I remembered what a friend told me once, “It’s much more attractive just to let the tears fall, not so much the open-mouthed sobbing.” That changed the way I cry forever. I never sob with my mouth open, it is unattractive and makes people uncomfortable. And sometimes, you drool. I remember when my uncle Mike died, I was about 15. His mother (my cousins’ grandmother) was like 100% old world Italian, and wailed and lamented all through the wake and funeral. Total casket jumper. “SALVADOR, OH SALVADOR, LET THEM TAKE ME WITH YOU, SALVADOR! I DON’T WANT TO LIVE ANYMORE.” (His name was really Salvador) See what I mean about making things uncomfortable? I think my dad actually told her, “You’ve got to stop doing that, you’re making it worse for everyone.” It may have just been the yelling more than the sobbing.

So my friend’s advice, combined with the memory of my cousin’s grandmother’s ruckus at my uncle’s funeral, makes me a self-conscious crier. Isn’t that horrible? Even in emotional distress I’m a vain bitch.

There is a Le Tigre song called “Cry for Everything Bad That’s Ever Happened.” Today, let’s all cry for everything bad that’s ever happened.