Too tired....
I'm very tired tonight. I got over-heated taking my kids to a late afternoon soccer clinic with the local pro-team, the Austin Aztex, and came home feeling absolutely crummy. My temp was 102 when I got in, oh yay.
Then, the Practical Sister called.
I have come to terms with a few things regarding my dad since yesterday, after talking to my mother. He's not doing well, and he's having a very hard time since having had the stents put in. It's very hard for him to eat.
Well, my sister was very upset when she called, and it took some time to calm her down, but finally, she said she wanted me to call our mother and talk with her again, in order to see what conclusion I came to after talking to her. So, I did.
Dad has stopped eating.
I know he's frustrated. I know he's tired. Very, very tired. He's tired, and he's upset, and he's anxious, because he can't eat without throwing up now. It's exhausting him. And he's in pain. He's in pain, and he's having a hard time taking the pain medication they've prescribed, because it just comes right back up again. This is making him very short-tempered, and he's taking it out on Mom.
To top it all off, he's also nauseated almost all the time. Part of this is because he's not following the doctor's orders. He's supposed to sit up, practically ram-rod straight, when he eats. Then he's supposed to walk or just remain upright for about 30 minutes afterwards to allow gravity to do what his esophagus can no longer do, which is make the food go down. But he can't. He's just... too weak, too tired, too... just too.
You could say his quality of life right now sucks.
If he doesn't eat, he's going to get weaker. If he doesn't eat, well, he's diabetic...
I am trying to see this from his perspective. He's 85 years old. He's already been through treatment for this cancer once, treatment that gave him 8 years longer than they ever expected him to have. Now he's being poked and prodded by doctors, and it's all just making him feel worse.
I don't want my dad to suffer. But I can see that my sisters aren't ready to let him go. They don't see it the way I do, they don't see him the way I do. As far as they're concerned, he's the Unbreakable Marine. He's outlived his own father, and his uncles, and most of his cousins. I had said at first that the way things were going last week, that on the one hand, we'd be lucky to see another Christmas with him, and yet on the other, knowing how stubborn he is, we could be celebrating Father's Day with him next summer.
I'm beginning to think I'll be lucky if I get to hear him sing Happy Birthday to me in that goofy little way of his one more time. And you know, guys, after that, I'll be 45 forever, because there will be no more birthdays for me.
Oh, gods, my dad is dying, and my sisters have no fucking clue, because they don't want it to be real.
Well, I don't want it to be real, either, but... someone's gotta face the music, I guess. Might as well be me. I'm just... not ready yet.
I don't think I ever will be.
Then, the Practical Sister called.
I have come to terms with a few things regarding my dad since yesterday, after talking to my mother. He's not doing well, and he's having a very hard time since having had the stents put in. It's very hard for him to eat.
Well, my sister was very upset when she called, and it took some time to calm her down, but finally, she said she wanted me to call our mother and talk with her again, in order to see what conclusion I came to after talking to her. So, I did.
Dad has stopped eating.
I know he's frustrated. I know he's tired. Very, very tired. He's tired, and he's upset, and he's anxious, because he can't eat without throwing up now. It's exhausting him. And he's in pain. He's in pain, and he's having a hard time taking the pain medication they've prescribed, because it just comes right back up again. This is making him very short-tempered, and he's taking it out on Mom.
To top it all off, he's also nauseated almost all the time. Part of this is because he's not following the doctor's orders. He's supposed to sit up, practically ram-rod straight, when he eats. Then he's supposed to walk or just remain upright for about 30 minutes afterwards to allow gravity to do what his esophagus can no longer do, which is make the food go down. But he can't. He's just... too weak, too tired, too... just too.
You could say his quality of life right now sucks.
If he doesn't eat, he's going to get weaker. If he doesn't eat, well, he's diabetic...
I am trying to see this from his perspective. He's 85 years old. He's already been through treatment for this cancer once, treatment that gave him 8 years longer than they ever expected him to have. Now he's being poked and prodded by doctors, and it's all just making him feel worse.
I don't want my dad to suffer. But I can see that my sisters aren't ready to let him go. They don't see it the way I do, they don't see him the way I do. As far as they're concerned, he's the Unbreakable Marine. He's outlived his own father, and his uncles, and most of his cousins. I had said at first that the way things were going last week, that on the one hand, we'd be lucky to see another Christmas with him, and yet on the other, knowing how stubborn he is, we could be celebrating Father's Day with him next summer.
I'm beginning to think I'll be lucky if I get to hear him sing Happy Birthday to me in that goofy little way of his one more time. And you know, guys, after that, I'll be 45 forever, because there will be no more birthdays for me.
Oh, gods, my dad is dying, and my sisters have no fucking clue, because they don't want it to be real.
Well, I don't want it to be real, either, but... someone's gotta face the music, I guess. Might as well be me. I'm just... not ready yet.
I don't think I ever will be.