In a phrase that alludes to a favorite dark joke popular within my family, my mom called to say that she is "on the roof".


She had mastectomies in the sixties and seventies, and decided to go for reconstructive surgery when:
1. It was still new and experimental.
2. Her first radical left her with little skin or muscle to even work with.
3. Implants were less stable and full of silicone.


She already has Lupus which I AM SURE is a result of those stupid fucking implants.

Now the implants have completely fallen apart. Just loose silicone and empty containers. So she has to get surgery to have the leeching silicone sucked out and remaining baggie(s) removed.


I'll be going on down. I'll let you know how it turns out ...


If things go as they are, you may find out indirectly from mainstream media.

If my stepfather keeps whining with his "What is going to happen to me?" [i.e., if she dies] CRAP, I'm going to fucking kill him.

He's a quiet, passive man who LIVES to be bossed & henpecked, with a pension AND a driver's license ... I doubt he leaves the synagogue's funerary service without a fiancee.