(no subject)
My uncle James went into the hospital yesterday or two days ago after he went in to see his doctor for a follow-up after his visit for pneumonia.
My Uncle John called my mother at -- late-ten something to tell her that James' heart had stopped and he was being kept alive by machine.
Auntie called us before we got to the hospital to tell us that they had been trying to revive him for 25 minutes with no response, said to her it sounded like he was already dead.
After a detour and a wait to get security clearance to go up to ICU (took less than three minutes, but felt like forever), we got to the second floor and were directed to the proper corridor to be met by Auntie and Uncle John who let us know that he was gone.
That was 11something. It is now almost 2:30 am and I just got home.
I am exhausted, cranky, miserable, and guilt-ridden. This post is pretty much to say "Yes, at the moment, I am okay. If I need to break on you, I will, and if you have anything to say to me, say it here, because if you even blink at my cellphone and it wakes me up? Your ass is so grass."
Goodnight.