She decided to respond with "What do you want me to say? I'm 55, both my parents died at 60, I have macular degeneration and a high school education and I'm just trying to make my way in the world as best I can."
Wow. Now I know where I got the "woe is poor little me" tendency. I'm glad I grew out of it (as much as I did, anyway). But that shit don't cut it with me, and she was pretty obviously trying to change the subject to her self-pity.
So I lit into her. Told her that she was trying to change the subject, that unless she's taken up smoking or her parents died of something other than the emphysema she told me she's got years yet. Told her that I distinctly remember her taking college courses and doing reasonably well in them, and there's nothing stopping her from going back. Asked her which type of MD it is (I suspect the sort that's often made worse by poor diet -- MD is apparently somewhat rare as young as 55 and there's no family history of it that I'm aware of). Pointed out that the last time I gave her any information she pestered a coworker on both his work and home emails. (She claims those emails were accidental. From her work account and "she didn't know what those buttons were!" Bullshit. I worked techsup, I'm familiar with the setup her office uses and that she's been using for as long as they've had it, and doing it twice blows even the most farfetched accidental theory out of the water.)
She's not going to like this. But you know what? I don't care. The "ooohhhhhh woe is me, mortality just hit me upside the head and I'm old and my body is failing" shit doesn't work with me. I'm young and my body is fux0red, mortality has stared me in the face more than once, and unless I somehow missed her smoking five packs a day for the last 30 years (which her parents did and I'm not exaggerating) she's not going to die in five years. Unless she manages to bust her stomach pouch completely open instead of just straining the staples.
I'm still, a year after finding out about it (when I was tracking her down via public message boards so my brain would stop screaming about her trying to contact me, which she sort of was), boggling over that one. How does one manage to gain back weight after a roux-en-Y? Much less 60 pounds? In two months? I don't think I could gain 60 pounds in two months if I actively tried. I get sick if I eat too large a piece of cake.
