Right in the midst of the doctor telling us her heart was, in fact, too damaged to stent without risks and asking us if we wanted to decide between the risky stent or bypass, my dad's phone rang.
It was his doctor.
Giving him bad news.
Bad news I didn't even know might be coming because my mother told him not to tell me about the tests so I wouldn't be stressed out.
That whole keeping shit secret is a big old ugly can of worms that will one day be discussed in detail in my tell-all autobiography.
So, way sick mother and possibly way sick daddy. Simultaneously.
And scabs ripped off old wounds that made me ugly cry in public because I was so insanely pissed.
Ashton Kutcher is going to jump off a gurney any second, right?