Life, in general
I don't know where to start. One minute I'm fine, and the next I'm having a break down.
Grandpa's in the hospital. He fell and hit his head early Friday morning. Got a bunch of calls while I was taking my chem test. and called Amy back. He was in surgery, and I didn't find out what was going on until I got to the hospital. He had a blood clot on his brain, they did surgery to remove the clot and drain the excess fluid to keep pressure from building up. We still don't know if he had a stroke. He's in ICU, day 3. They removed the shunt today and he's responsive and following simple commands.
It's hard to look at it and think about what's going to happen next. I broke down in the car today with my mom.
I know that with the Parkinson's he lives everyday becoming a little less of himself and there's still enough of him there to know that. Everyday he wakes up and he knows that he's becoming a shell. When he sees his doctor, he asks "can't you cure this?" And the doctor says, "all we can do is slow it down." And my grandpa has to live everyday knowing that no one can help him. No one can take it away, and no one can save him.
And it's not fair. Even if, in his life, they found a cure, they couldn't give him back what he's lost. And he would never be the person he used to be.
Maybe I'm just way too sleep-deprived.
Grandpa's in the hospital. He fell and hit his head early Friday morning. Got a bunch of calls while I was taking my chem test. and called Amy back. He was in surgery, and I didn't find out what was going on until I got to the hospital. He had a blood clot on his brain, they did surgery to remove the clot and drain the excess fluid to keep pressure from building up. We still don't know if he had a stroke. He's in ICU, day 3. They removed the shunt today and he's responsive and following simple commands.
It's hard to look at it and think about what's going to happen next. I broke down in the car today with my mom.
I know that with the Parkinson's he lives everyday becoming a little less of himself and there's still enough of him there to know that. Everyday he wakes up and he knows that he's becoming a shell. When he sees his doctor, he asks "can't you cure this?" And the doctor says, "all we can do is slow it down." And my grandpa has to live everyday knowing that no one can help him. No one can take it away, and no one can save him.
And it's not fair. Even if, in his life, they found a cure, they couldn't give him back what he's lost. And he would never be the person he used to be.
Maybe I'm just way too sleep-deprived.