Unless You’re Dying, It’s Not Worth My Time

, , , , | Related | March 16, 2018

(My grandmother is a stern, no-nonsense matriarch with some rather peculiar ideas about health, from growing up in a time when castor oil was the only medicine available. I’ve dislocated my ankle the day before and I haven’t had any treatment for it. As I limp downstairs for breakfast, I feel in terrible pain and as if I’m about to throw up. I try and make it to the bathroom, but I fall in a dead faint halfway there. My mother later tells me she heard the thud from the cellar. When I come back to my senses, I’m white as a sheet, lying spread eagle on the corridor floor, and my parents are kneeling at either side with eyes as wide as dinner plates. My grandmother comes out of her bedroom and sees the scene…)

Grandmother: “What’s going on? [My Name], are you running a fever?”

Me: *still out of it, and it shows* “No… I don’t think…”

Grandmother: “Oh. That’s good.”

(And she literally walks over me on her way to the kitchen!)

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