Abuela

I was trying to avoid this topic on my blog because to be honest it isn’t my story to tell and it felt a little too personal. Then things happen which make me go – no one is going to believe this shizzle. My last living grandparent (Abuela) had a stroke almost two weeks ago which has affected the family. Thankfully everything is on its way to fine and she will be released from the hospital on Monday. Obviously I went to visit.

Now I don’t want this to come across as me bashing Puerto Rico because it is a truly beautiful dysfunctional country but, it needs to be said that their health care needs to get a freaking clue. I went to visit Abuela with my parents and we were turned down due to the following infractions:

Visiting hours are 2-4.
I was wearing shorts.
There were too many of us.

Now I may have been known to throw a temper tantrum or two (thousand) under the best of occasions my 98 year old Granny having a stroke is not one of them. Thankfully, my mom was there and manipulated the situation by having my Dad and Her count as hospital staff since they both are registered to practice medicine on the island (high five and mad snaps to the rents). The shorts thing though was a deal breaker. To be honest, I should have known better. But in 98 degrees and humidity that gave me serious afro I just wasn’t thinking straight. Plus to my defense I have never been to a PR hospital and my own parents didn’t correct my wardrobe. Who knew in a country where you can run red lights, have to get a new birth certificate, and can talk on your cell phone while “driving” that they would be so formal?

Mom sweet talked the guy but he still told me that even though he understood I was a teenager I was going to be a man soon and should dress like one. This sentence is fraught with irony. I don’t think he understood how grateful I actually was with it. Although, in retrospect I probably shouldn’t have been so excited to be told I would be a man soon.

Once in the room we visited with Abuela who was very excited to see us. I climbed into bed with her like I have my entire life and showed her pictures of Chupacabra which made her really happy. The nurses who came by then lectured that we had too many people in the room at one time. Even though Granny’s private nurse, Dr. Dad, and RN Mom didn’t count my two aunts, uncle, and I were too many people. This became a farce because our obvious solution was a push and a pillow to throw me in the closet. Literally.

My mom has a history of hiding in closets. As a little kid she would get coloring books, comic books, Oreo cookies, and a glass of milk to trick my sister and I into the closet during rain storms because she was afraid of lighting. We lived in Florida the lighting capital of the world. Somehow surrounded by a fort of pillows my mom felt like we were safe and that made her happy so we did it. Everyday during the summer we would spend an hour or two hanging out in the closet.

Every couple of minutes the nurses would come in and my aunts would hide in the bathroom while I was in the closet.

We left for lunch and security guard told me that I was not allowed back in until I dressed appropriately. I stifled my ^&#$% off and smiled again at the thought he called me a teenager again. When we returned from lunch the guard was not kidding. We had no choice but to distract him while I New York walked down the corridor and up the stairs to Granny’s.

Sunday’s visit was more productive because the guards were overwhelmed with the traffic and I was dressed appropriately. Either way Granny gets out on Monday. Here’s to recovery!