I made a phone call yesterday. The reasons are unimportant, I may go into them later, but it left me frustrated. It took me ages to get through, then I finally got to speak to someone, the wrong person, and they asked me to hold. Which I did. For 36 minutes.
Fuck knows what they did in those 36 minutes. Went off for a cuppa, ON MARS? Nipped off for a shit? Popped to the shop? Put together some flatpack furniture? Have a wank? God knows. But the one thing they didn’t do is connect me to the person I was supposed to speak to. All in all, I’d spent 51 minutes for something to be resolved, an answer, and got nowhere.
To say I was annoyed, as the dialtone clicked in signalling I’d been cut off, is putting it mildly. I was furious.
Actually I was speechless, and then a very great deal of swearing occurred.
There were times during this call that I thought ‘fuck it, I’ve had it. Had enough’ and almost put the phone down, thinking I’d call back later when it was less busy. But I’d spent all that time and effort getting to that point it seemed stupid to just chuck it all in and hang up. The minutes ticked by and, well, after a while you think to yourself ‘I’ve been hanging on this long I may as well hang on a bit longer.’
Would I have felt better if I’d been the one ending the phone call and calling back later? Possibly. I could’ve got on with something in that 36 minutes I wasted. I could’ve gone of for a cuppa, done a shit, popped to the shop, started putting together a BILLY bookcase. Had a wank. ALL OF THAT! I can put a BILLY together in under 15 minutes so I know I’m capable.
I think I should’ve hung up, in retrospect. It was a waste of time and fury, and in that time I spent hanging on, I went through a lot of emotions and feelings which, as the phone clicked, meant the most unpleasant language known to man spilt from my gobhole. Every swear word I know came out of my mouth, along with a few completely made up ones.
It kinda went like this “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHFUCKSHITWANKARSECOCKSUCKINGWANKBANGINGSPISMTWATS.” But worse.
But the phone call WAS important. It needed to be made. It was worth hanging on as, if I’d got through to who I needed to speak I would’ve found out what I needed to know and something would’ve been done. Something would’ve been resolved. So, once the anger subsided I took a big deep breath and rang the number again. I’m not known for my patience, but I know I had to show some restraint in this case. I called again and went through the same procedure as before, but this time I got through to the right person.
And they’ll be sending the correct screws in the post, so I’ll have that bookcase up by the end of the week.
Actually, that was a joke trying to make light of a crap situation.
I will explain why I made the phone call, lest anyone think that this is an extended metaphor for something other. I’m reassuring like that.
The phone call related to the situation with my mum. I went to see her and she was in bed, confused and crying. I thought to myself “Fuck. Is she like this every day and she’s just not told anyone?” I made her some food, a cup of tea, did some jobs around the house, did her shopping and all she did in that time was cry. It had been obvious that she’d not eaten anything for days, and my first thought was to call her GP and get him involved, or simply call an ambulance as I was concerned beyond concerned. But my mum is stubborn, and she was adamant that she didn’t want anyone to see her, didn’t want to go to hospital and simply wanted to be left alone. My suggestions of help were making her more and more upset.
The phone call I made was to try to get some help put in place for her, now, but it felt wrong to be talking about this with someone as it’s against her wishes. But I had to. I’d be a shit son if I didn’t, and no sort of person at all if I didn’t stand up and do something. It may be going against her wishes but it’s also the right thing to do. Isn’t it?
I guess it’s all about choices. I think my mum is choosing to die, slowly, as she sees no life left for her, and certainly not one without pain or illness. I can’t change her mind it seems. And I’m at a loss as to what to do next. I’m hanging on again I guess.
I just called her and she told me she’s fine but she didn’t sound it. I tried to sound upbeat and positive and she said she’ll call me back later. The next step is this, I think, and my aunt and I talked about this at some length last night: if she sounds bad later on today then we’ll go to see her this evening and take her to hospital. We’ll get shouted at, screamed at, and it’ll be very hard work but it has to be done.
Fuck me, do I need a hug right now as I have a LOT on my plate.
But don’t we all eh?
Ach, enough of the self-pitying bullshit. Things have gotta change.
Thanks for reading, and any advice would be very welcome.