Personal history shows that I'm a wreck when it comes to the pain and suffering of my loved ones. I tend to adopt the always effective curl-in-a-ball-and-sob strategy, which quickly renders me useless to everyone else in need of support. This time around, there were several potentially dam-breaking situations where I willed myself not to cry, not because I wasn't sad, but because I didn't want my mascara to run. Because, seriously, there's nothing grosser than runny mascara.

This probably sounds absolutely preposterous, but there was an added benefit. With me busy obsessing over the dryness of my eyelashes, the rest of my family was spared the spectacle of my agonized wailing. Furthermore, I was able to talk with my grandmother's doctors and nurses in a relatively calm and articulate manner. I was also able to listen when my grandmother tried to communicate about her condition because I wasn't deafened by the sound of my own heaving sobs. It turns out the abject fear of runny mascara has a calming effect on me.

If nothing else, my mother got a huge kick out of seeing me all dolled up in such unglamorous circumstances. My commitment to the vacuous art of self decoration gave her something to think about and talk about while we waited for news from hospital staff. I don't mean to suggest that the way to support your family is to be complete self-centered, but in this case my little personal care odyssey really helped. Now that my grandmother is on the mend, I can get back to being a cheap, lazy slob.