Today I think I've hit a wall. I don't know if I've ever been so exhausted in my entire life.
If someone came along and offered to temporarily take over my life, I would absolutely say yes. And then I'd crawl in bed and sleep for a month.
I went to the hospital after work yesterday and then slept out in VA at my parents' house. I intended to get up early and drive back into DC this morning, and I just couldn't get up. And couldn't get up. And couldn't get up.
I let my work know that I wouldn't be in today. I just can't do it.
Yesterday they tried to test my dad's ability to swallow, and it didn't go very well. This could just be trauma, and not permanent damage. They're going to try again today. Betty and I are about to go over there.
He's a lot more alert now. And they've been getting him up walking a couple times a day. This is all good, from a physical perspective.
However, he's still not delighted to be here. He's no longer angry, but he's not champing at the bit to live. He says he's sorry, and I believe he is. But that doesn't mean I believe he wouldn't do it all over again.
I tell him that I love him and that I need him here. And he says sometimes it's just too hard.
Honestly, I don't know how to process this. It makes me so sad and tired. We haven't even begun to come up with a plan for the future. As in the next week future. Or even the next month future.
When he's just lying in bed they have these big inflatable things they put on his calves, from ankle to knee. Kind of like enormous marshallows. They inflate, apparently to force the blood back up so you don't get blood clots.
He's moving around enough that he doesn't have to have them on during the day. But they're always hooked up, just sitting at the foot of his bed, inflating and deflating. We tried to get him to put them on yesterday, and he said, "You wear them."
So Betty and I separately tried them on. They feel nice, I have to say. Like you're being cuddled. At this point, I think I could really use one that fits over your entire body. It wouldn't be subtle to walk around with, but it sure would feel good.
Sometimes the hardest part of life is remembering during the down moments that the ups will come back.ReplyDelete
Yes, you are right. The ups are hard to imagine right now. Thank you for the hug.ReplyDelete
Airmailing a big marshmallow hug from above the 49'th. God knows we can all use one of those now and again. Hopefully rest will partner up with you soon.ReplyDelete
I wish we could all make this better for you, your dad, your brother and Betty just through the sheer will of wanting it. Because everyone who knows you or reads you wants it to be better.ReplyDelete
Take care of yourself, too, that's really important.
It's obvious your dad has many demons, but he's sooooooo fortunate to have so much love around him. All you can do is to continue being there for him. That's all you can really do.ReplyDelete
IJ - I so appreciate the big marshmallow hug!ReplyDelete
DCup - I wish you could, too. Thanks so much for saying that.
G&D - Thank you. It's true. I want to do more, but there's not much more I can do.
Hang in there. Take care of yourself when you need to...ReplyDelete
Just want you to know that I'm still around, still thinking of you, still reading your posts. I don't always comment 'cause, frankly, I don't know what to say besides, "Boy, that really sucks."ReplyDelete
My mom had a nasty surprise surgery a year ago and had those leg things. I think it's great that you tried them! I was curious what they felt like! Keep moving forward, and ocassionally do what you did today, take time to relax and breath deep.
and just for good measure...[hug] from a total stranger ;-)
VVK - Thank you thank you.ReplyDelete
WIP - It's true, there's not much to say beyond that. Thank you for reading and thinking of us. And thank you for the hug. I am happy for them all.
I'm hear, reading, too. And thinking about you, in case the will of individuals does make a difference.ReplyDelete