“See Claire Run”

An Essay Based on my Ensemble Play, “See Claire Run”

Created & Written by: Katie Schwartz

My mother always says, “Katie one phone call can change your life.” That's true, but so can a vagina. Not a monologue, a vagina -- one very special and SENILE vagina. “The vagina that would...” Destroy and obliterate everything in its wake.

 

It all started when I innocently agreed to take my grandmother to the gynecologist – Within two hours, I read “Highlight” from cover to cover so many times I was pleading with God for a rectal and a pap smear back. I mean for crissakes, two-hours? It's ONE vagina! As the third hour fast approached, I was so disgusted I threw the “Highlight” onto the floor and blazed past the nurse in search of my grandmother. 

 

Fortunately she was easy to find; she was the one screaming. I ripped open the curtain and saw my grandmother spread eagle being restrained by two orderlies, a gynecologist between her legs and her VAGINA on the table.  No, no, no, but, but not in her vagiynal place. I saw her vagina actually ON the table, just lying there and SHE was trying to PUSH her vagina BACK inside herself.

 

All I kept thinking was in what twisted parallel universe does a granddaughter have to DEAL with her grandmother’s vagina? So I vomited and gave myself a pep talk, “Katie, you can do this. No, you can’t. Katie, buck up. You have no choice.”

 

Dr. Hillsdale was an annoyingly perky native of Wisconsin. “Katie, your grandmother has a prolapsed uterus. That's what you saw on the table.” God forbid she stops there. Nope, she just kept going. “The weight of her uterus caused her ovaries to drop and her vaginal canal to collapse.” At this point, I was squeezing the circulation from my legs, so of course, I held my breath. “I think your grandmother's also got short-term memory loss. She's suuuper repetitive.” I had to interject, “She’s Jewish.” She was dually committed and responded with, “I'm serious, Katie. She shows classic signs of mental illness, verbal abuse.” I said, “What? She called you a crazy bitch. That’s not abuse that’s love.” And that’s when it got ugly, “Katie, listen to me, your grandmother needs to see a neurologist immediately. She scratches, bites, kicks and screams.” I lost it, “HEY, she's not CUJO.  She's a 5'3, 90-year-old Jewish broad from Brooklyn with a vagina gone awry. Cut her some fuckin' slack!” She was obviously really pissed off. I could tell because she pursed the pink out of her lips and got all snippy with me. “Your grandmother also needs a hysterectomy and vaginal reconstruction A-SAP. A-SAP. A-SAP.” I understood where she was coming from, but had a question, “why vaginal reconstruction? It's not like she USES it, so what's the point of rebuilding it? What are you thinking; if you build it they will come? She’s 90.” She bit her white lip so hard, she bled. That was my cue to leave, so I did.

I felt like I was in a Roman Polanski interpretation of “Deep Throat.” My mind was drowning in neurosis. I was terrified this was hereditary. All I kept thinking was, “what if my destiny is schlepping to Katz's deli on a Sunday for a corned beef on rye with my VAGINA in one hand and my pocketbook in another?!” And worse, how the hell was I supposed to tell my mother that her mother's vagina was now an accessory?

 

I practiced that phone call. "Mommy, hi it's me, Katie. How are you?" Oh, that's not transparent at all, ass. "Ma, it's me, Katie, grandma's vagina fell out and she's biting people." Better. My mother handled it like a champ - SHUT UP. "Katie, if I call the doctor and find out you're lying to me I'll be very angry!" "NO SHIT, really? You don’t say?! Well bowl me over and call me a pin. How would I even know from a vagina with that much reach?"

 

Later that week, Claire had surgery. It was a complete success.  So much so that within a few short hours of her five-hour procedure, she barricaded herself in her room. After all, she was done and wanted to leave. It took SWAT coming through the window from the roof to get the door open. Followed by, two doctors, three orderlies, a straightjacket and a round the clock Valium drip to sedate her.

 

Six months, four heart attacks, five bladder infections, two bouts of pneumonia and fifteen personalities later because God forbid the drama ends there, Sunday's went from an afternoon at Cedar’s, to Alzy Ward Tourist Day. If we liked it, Medicare wouldn't cover it.  If we hated it, Medicare would. The only commonality they shared was a noxious stench of urine, married with heavy duty cleaning solvent. It was unforgettable and permeated our taste buds, making us gag.  Finding a place that didn't leave us heartbroken and guilt ridden became impossible... But we had to, so we did.

 

Once we lured Claire to the home under false pretenses, Sunday's were affectionately known as, let’s see Claire Run day. “Where's my pocketbook?” “I have it, grandma.” “Lemme pish and we'll go.” “Where's my pocketbook?” “I have it, grandma.” “Lemme pish and we'll go” “Where's my pocketbook?” “I have it, grandma.” “Lemme pish and we'll go.” I didn’t know if I was on spin, or rinse half the time -

 

We always ended the evening at Shanghai Grill. I would tell myself, “Katie, just make it through a little Mu Shui, take Claire to lockdown and you’re home free....” But it was never that simple.

 

“Too hot. Too cold. Nah - No good. No ice. More ice. Where's my pocketbook? I can't eat this. Who are you? Gimmie your rice.  I hate this rice. They can't give a crispy noodle?  Katie, pass the salt. These are soft. I want crispy. Coffee's cold. Too hot. Give a lil cream. Water. No ice. More ice.

Who are you? The cookie's stale. More coffee. Too hot. Too cold.  Help!  The Chinaman stole my pocketbook.”

 

My grandmother died last year. It was all so sad and tragic - Very deathy- I mean, how many near death experiences can a girl take, you know? It's just not my genre.

 

I was relieved and guilt ridden because I was relieved. I just felt like we could finally bury the disease and mourn the loss of a woman we loved very much. The deconstruction of Claire was unbelievably painful to witness and impossible to rationalize. It is so surreal. One day this person you love who drives you crazy in that way you wouldn't trade for all the bagels in Brooklyn stops. The love in their eyes is replaced with an intolerable, deep vacancy because sure, it's all fun and games until someone's gets a dose of alzy's!