My grandmother is in the hospital. I can’t say she’s fine (if she were fine, she wouldn’t be in the hospital, now, would she, Chili?) but she’s not there actively pursuing her death. She has lymphoma, and it seems that the last round of chemotherapy left her with sores and ulcers on the soft tissues of her mouth and throat. These sores made eating and drinking unpleasant-to-impossible, and she was admitted to the hospital on Wednesday evening undernourished and dehydrated.
After a brief stay in the PCU (I’m not sure what “P” stands for, but I do know that the unit is for people who aren’t sick enough for the ICU but who are too sick to be in a regular room), she was moved yesterday to a floor. I had seen her in the PCU, and went to visit her yesterday in her room. She’s looking much better and is managing to augment her I.V. nutrition and hydration with a bit of chicken soup and some macaroni and cheese, but that’s not really what I’m writing this post about.
I’ve mentioned several times that I was adopted into this family when I was about 14. It was never a formal adoption; I was just sort of absorbed by these people as one of their own and it was rarely - if ever - discussed. Even with all the love and affection I receive from this family, though, I’ve always been keenly aware that I’m NOT “one of them;” that my membership in this family is somehow tenuous and fragile because I don’t share genetics, I wasn’t legally incorporated into the group, and I no longer share the bond with MeadMaker that got me into the family in the first place. I know these are limitations only to me - no one else has ever even hinted that my status as a member of the family has ever been in question - but they are still things that cause me worry on occasion.
I was sitting in her room with her, her grandson from her eldest son (MeadMaker) and his wife, her granddaughter from her youngest son, and her husband when her nurse popped her head in to see how she was doing. Gramma introduced everyone in order of physical location - Amy, Mrs. MeadMaker, MeadMaker, Grampa, and me. “This is my granddaughter, Amy,” she said, and I instantly wondered what she was going to say when she got to me. She continued around the room, “this is my granddaughter-in-law R.G. That’s my grandson, MeadMaker, you already know my husband Bud, and this is my granddaughter, Chili.”
I really do belong to them.
Belonging is good.
My mother was widowed with 6 kids. She was not a person able to open up much, very isolated (although also very sweet, and determined to look after her kids). We all grew up distant. All 6 are alive. I rarely have contact with any of them I don’t initiate. My older brother and I interact some, but I’m not sure it’s a priority with him.
In short, I feel less sense of belonging with my “blood” family than you seem to have with your “adopted” family.
Life is what it is.
I feel no belonging to my ‘blood’ family beyond seeing my sister now and then and getting an occasional email from a cousin. I’m the kind of person who needs to belong, though, so I sought out a family that would have me. I think the Universe did pretty well in putting me with these folks, and I’m grateful every day for them.
There’s an old adage about blood being thicker than water. Sometimes, choice wins out over blood. Loving someone inscribes their name on your heart, makes them part of you.
You clearly belong to them as much as they belong to you. : D
I hope your grandmother improves enough to come home soon!
Thanks, Mama. As a matter of fact, the doctor was with her when we arrived to visit this afternoon, and was processing her discharge. She should be home as I write this, and we’ll go and see her on our usual Thursday visit this week.
Good vibes for Grammy.
I guess you know how they feel about you!
My prior comment left out that I have a family of “choice” myself now. My sweetie has a wonderful (adult) daughter, who has a wonderful almost-five-year-old girl of her own, and a husband to boot. These people fill my heart every day.
The aforementioned husband (also a Gerry, as was his late father) went through Hodgkins then non-Hodgkins lymphoma (”cured” by stem-cell therapy, which included much chemo and radiation).
I don’t have a url for Jimmy Carter’s comments.