WebKittyn Warbles
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
“Prepare for the Worst”
That's what the doctor told my mother today. "Prepare for the worst." What if I don't want to prepare for the worst.
It's not good. It's really not good. All the hope of the past few days is fading. His diaphragm is totally paralysed, not just the one side anymore. The flu isn't lessening at all. His heart, even with the pacemaker, is starting to weaken.
My mother came home in the worst way she's been yet. She's losing hope and it's killing her. I took my second shower of the day so I could go somewhere and get hysterical without her having to see it. She called the funeral home she'll be using, 'nuff said on that.
It's not over yet, they're going to give it a few more days and then trach him to see if that helps. There's also the move to Vassar Hospital so it's not over yet but it's not looking good.
She just told me a little while ago that he told her this was going to be his last Thanksgiving. He felt himself weakening.
I can't even write this shit. Makes it real. He's dying, Heatherlyn. Face it. No, I don't want to. Go away.
I can't even begin to think what this is going to do to my mother. My parental situation has always been somewhat abnormal. My mother's whole life is my dad, has been for 47 years. Everything she did, does and planned was all about Chuckie. She's been better than the best nurse in taking care of him since he went on oxygen and I'm terrified what this is going to do to her. They were as in love after 47 years as the day they got married and it's going to kill her.
I'm worried about myself, too. Every day since they moved up here I would call him while she was at work and we would talk sometimes for hours. Sometimes we'd watch the news channels on the phone and talk about it, he and I have very different ideas on politics. He gave me my love of reading, my warped sense of humour and he's been there to answer any question I had for him, big or small. He's always been the smartest man I've known and my hero. I am him, from my love of all things lime to old trains.
Being in this house kills me. His favourite pair of pajama pants are hanging on his door. His favourite tattered old green cashmere sweater is on the dining room table. The things I've given him for Christmas are everywhere. The brass lamp I just got him for his birthday November 4th. He's everywhere in this house but he's not here and he may never be here again. The Christmas presents meant for this year sitting on the bed in the guest room. The lifesize cardboard Sarah Michelle Gellar we got him.
I'm not sure how I'm going to deal with this. It's already changed me. I've never had to deal with anything like this, I've had a pretty easy life for the most part. I've never imagined life without him. Maybe I should have but I couldn't and now it's all in front of me and it sucks.
I want to shut the world off. Everywhere is Christmas and it only makes it worse. I don't want to talk to people besides Darkstar and Fay. I don't want to depress anyone during their holiday season and I can't handle their lives going on as normal so I just want to do ....... I don't know. I don't know what I want to do or what I want to feel.
I remember a dream he had that he told me about a year ago. We had an Akita named Hatchi when I was in my 20's, he was an evil beast that bit both Darkstar and myself. He was my dad's dog, all the way. My dad dreamed that he died and went to where the animals wait to be reunited with their owners. He said when he got there the angel in charge told him to please take Hatchi as he was biting all the other pets and angels. He thought it was funny, it disturbed me. Now I can't get it out of my head.
He used to sing me to sleep as a child with "Daddy's Little Girl" and the damn song is haunting me.
He used to read to me. After dinner we would all go into the living room and he would read to me while my mother hooked a rug or just listened. The Laura Ingalls Wilder books, Anne of Green Gables, Babar, Curious George, Clifford the Big Red Dog.
I'm supposed to wake up here and go join him in his den like I have been for 10 years. Instead I wake up to nothing.
I know one thing. I know I can't deal with this much sad.
So tell me. Is this 'preparing for the worst?'
It's not good. It's really not good. All the hope of the past few days is fading. His diaphragm is totally paralysed, not just the one side anymore. The flu isn't lessening at all. His heart, even with the pacemaker, is starting to weaken.
My mother came home in the worst way she's been yet. She's losing hope and it's killing her. I took my second shower of the day so I could go somewhere and get hysterical without her having to see it. She called the funeral home she'll be using, 'nuff said on that.
It's not over yet, they're going to give it a few more days and then trach him to see if that helps. There's also the move to Vassar Hospital so it's not over yet but it's not looking good.
She just told me a little while ago that he told her this was going to be his last Thanksgiving. He felt himself weakening.
I can't even write this shit. Makes it real. He's dying, Heatherlyn. Face it. No, I don't want to. Go away.
I can't even begin to think what this is going to do to my mother. My parental situation has always been somewhat abnormal. My mother's whole life is my dad, has been for 47 years. Everything she did, does and planned was all about Chuckie. She's been better than the best nurse in taking care of him since he went on oxygen and I'm terrified what this is going to do to her. They were as in love after 47 years as the day they got married and it's going to kill her.
I'm worried about myself, too. Every day since they moved up here I would call him while she was at work and we would talk sometimes for hours. Sometimes we'd watch the news channels on the phone and talk about it, he and I have very different ideas on politics. He gave me my love of reading, my warped sense of humour and he's been there to answer any question I had for him, big or small. He's always been the smartest man I've known and my hero. I am him, from my love of all things lime to old trains.
Being in this house kills me. His favourite pair of pajama pants are hanging on his door. His favourite tattered old green cashmere sweater is on the dining room table. The things I've given him for Christmas are everywhere. The brass lamp I just got him for his birthday November 4th. He's everywhere in this house but he's not here and he may never be here again. The Christmas presents meant for this year sitting on the bed in the guest room. The lifesize cardboard Sarah Michelle Gellar we got him.
I'm not sure how I'm going to deal with this. It's already changed me. I've never had to deal with anything like this, I've had a pretty easy life for the most part. I've never imagined life without him. Maybe I should have but I couldn't and now it's all in front of me and it sucks.
I want to shut the world off. Everywhere is Christmas and it only makes it worse. I don't want to talk to people besides Darkstar and Fay. I don't want to depress anyone during their holiday season and I can't handle their lives going on as normal so I just want to do ....... I don't know. I don't know what I want to do or what I want to feel.
I remember a dream he had that he told me about a year ago. We had an Akita named Hatchi when I was in my 20's, he was an evil beast that bit both Darkstar and myself. He was my dad's dog, all the way. My dad dreamed that he died and went to where the animals wait to be reunited with their owners. He said when he got there the angel in charge told him to please take Hatchi as he was biting all the other pets and angels. He thought it was funny, it disturbed me. Now I can't get it out of my head.
He used to sing me to sleep as a child with "Daddy's Little Girl" and the damn song is haunting me.
He used to read to me. After dinner we would all go into the living room and he would read to me while my mother hooked a rug or just listened. The Laura Ingalls Wilder books, Anne of Green Gables, Babar, Curious George, Clifford the Big Red Dog.
I'm supposed to wake up here and go join him in his den like I have been for 10 years. Instead I wake up to nothing.
I know one thing. I know I can't deal with this much sad.
So tell me. Is this 'preparing for the worst?'
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