Some things don't change

My older nephew, the newly-minted sailor, was at my mom's house this past weekend. He has a couple weeks in town before he boards his ship and my mom, ever the doting grandma, wants to spend every moment with him she can. And she likes to show him off, so I went out of my way to stop by and visit with him, even took a few photos of her grandsons together.

The problem is my older sister. My nephew asked me why I keep my cyst in a jar. That's what his mother, my sister, tells people, that I keep my cyst in a jar to show it off.

First of all, it measured 11"x8"x5" and was shaped like a football. It wouldn't fit in "a jar." Secondly, the reason why it, and my ovaries and uterus, were removed was to biopsy them for cancer. So no, there's nothing left for me to carry around. I did ask the doctor for copies of the photos -- ones he would have taken anyway -- because I was dying to see the cyst that had such an impact on my life for months and months.

My sister happened to call my mom's house so I asked her, "Are you telling people I carry my cyst around in jar so I can show it off?"

"No."

"Your son says you do."

"Yeah," he said loudly. "You told me that repeatedly."

I didn't have the stomach to make her squirm. After all, she's tried to reach out to me recently and besides, our being civil makes my mother so happy. So I made a joke of it and passed the phone to my nephew.

But old as we are, my sister is exactly who she always was. She really cannot stand anyone thinking highly of me. Never has been able to. It makes me sad.