I was optimistic. Well, I still am. But in January, I was optimistic. Everyone has those little moments where fear creeps in and you lose a little of that hope and optimism, but you regain it. Eventually. So in January, we (I) was optimistic. 54 is young. He's strong. No big deal.
In March, still optimistic. Celebrated my brother's birthday. All good. April, June, both optimistic. Though I was nervous about traveling. But still, relatively optimistic.
July, I made my deal with the person in charge. Slightly less optimistic but I thought, hey, I could get til the end of the year. No problem. We can ring in the New Year together and all things will be fine and dandy.
Mom's bday, still less optimistic but not in the pessimistic range.
When we were first in the ER, was totally optimistic. I totally believed that the DRs would figure out what was wrong, pump him full of awesome, make you feel good and get better drugs, and we would all be going home later.
I was even still optimistic when I left at 3:30 that afternoon. Now, don't judge. I hadn't eaten a full meal all day, hadn't showered, and wasn't even wearing normal shoes and that hospital is freezing. Plus I had the only functional car at the time and hubs had to attend our nephew's birthday party. Mom insisted I go and try and relax. That everything was going to be fine. They were giving Dad drugs now and he was probably just going to sleep for the rest of the day/night anyway.
So I left. Went home, showered, changed, and went to the birthday party. It was hard to keep a smile on my face. Especially when people ask you about it. Personally, if I didn't bring it up, please don't. Especially in a freaking public place with kids running around. Not exactly happy birthday talk. But I sucked it up. I love my nephews. They repeatedly ask me to marry them. It's quite cute. The older one (5yo) doesn't understand why I'm married to hubs but wants to marry me. I tell hubs he has competition. He laughs.
I was even optimistic when I talked to Mom later that night. Said Dad was resting, everything is fine. I had a dinner that consisted of wine and wine. All around a good night.
Meanwhile, before all of this happened (as in August Events) I was busy planning my own (yes, because I'm a control freak) 25th Birthday. It wasn't going to be anything big. Just close friends (who live in the area) and some good food (prepared by hubs). It was to be on the night before my birthday and at our condo. Everyone was coming (and by everyone I mean all 4 plus a baby and an extra guest who was in town). It was a going to be a nice group. And then crud went down.
It's now Sunday, a week before my entry into the Quarter Century Club. Hubs and I have lunch plans with his family at La Tasca. It's restaurant week and one of my favorite tapas places. Unlimited! Can you believe that? And they have great Sangria. And everything is delicious. I have been looking forward to this lunch for weeks, ever since I made the reservations. So hubs and I are at Michael's. I can't remember why but we are looking at baskets. Maybe for his sister's baby shower gift, but I'm not sure. Maybe it's for his mom's birthday. It doesn't matter.
Here is a little tid bit that you will realize if someone is ever sick in your family. You live by your cell phone. I'm serious. I had my cell phone on me all the time. And it wasn't on vibrate (which it normally is). And no matter what, you always answer. It becomes the thing you dread most. You fear phone calls. It was the same when hubs' dad was sick. The thing that use to connect you to other people, to friends, to family, becomes this evil thing that carries dread and worry. So as you can imagine, the evil devil shrilly let out a verse of cupid shuffle (my ring tone that I can't seem to change) while we were perusing baskets, killing time before lunch.
And of course, I answer. There is no not answering. Of course it's mom. Of course, no matter how strong she tries to be when talking to my brother and me, she is crying, softly, trying not to get me to worry. She has called to inform me that I should come to the hospital, that we are putting Dad on a ventilator and that he won't be able to talk once we do. Of course, I start crying in Michael's. When someone is sick in you family or one of your friends, you no longer care where you cry. It just becomes a part of your life. You accept it and move on. You always have tissues ready and you get over the fact that people stare. Let them stare, your life is crashing around you and they can take their nosy stares and shove them up their butt.
Hubs comes back around to my aisle and sees the tears. He knows something has happened and he puts whatever item he had in his hand on the nearest shelf and begins walking me out of the store. "I have to go. You have to take me home." The car ride then consists of me arguing with him that yes, I can drive myself and no, he shouldn't cancel lunch. That he should still go and have a good meal. He convinces me that he will drive me, that I'm in no shape to drive. This could be true, it was kind of blurry through all the tears. I explain that he has to take me home anyway because I'm not wearing hospital appropriate clothes. It's freezing and capris and a tank top are going to freeze me and then I'll be in the next bed over.
So he takes me home, I change, he calls his mother to let her know that he may be late and that she should amend the reservation to only 5 and that it's under my name. She does not ask questions and for that I am grateful. I don't want to hear about it. I only want to get to the hospital. I want to see my Dad. I want him to tell me it will be okay.
At this point, I hate to say it, but I am no longer optimistic. I've watched tons of medical shows (don't tell me that ER and Grey's don't count) and I know (gut feeling) that this is not good. That people don't come off ventilators. I try and not think about this. Instead I think about how angry I am that I'm missing lunch. I made the plans! I picked the place! I wanted to eat unlimited tapas! No offense Dad, but you're messing up my lunch plans. Get it together.
We get to the hospital and my aunt and mother happen to be in the parking lot. Probably smoking. Don't even get me started on that. Mom stays back to talk with Ian and B takes me in. She is trying to be helpful, but telling me that 50% of people come off ventilators is not helping. 50%! That is not a good statistic and it does not help my already growing pessimism. Not at all.
The other thing that doesn't help is the nurse dad has today. Now, I have to mention that Mom and I were spoiled yesterday. We had Lennis. And Lennis is the most wonderful nurse I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. She is kind, warm, gentle, and tells you like it is. She doesn't talk down to you like you're an idiot. Now Mark, the nurse we had on Sunday, I was not a fan. And I may have let that be known. Maybe to Mark. But well, that definitely won't be the only run in with a nurse this family is going to have. What can I say, when we get mad, we show it.
So we all get to have our little moments with Dad. Brother and I have time together and he ignores Dad's insistent that brother prepare himself. I can't stand this and am of course, silently crying. I have managed to perfect the silent cry. No racking sobs for this one. No sirree. I cry pretty. We say our "goodbyes" and our "I love yous" and are ushered out into the waiting room. To wait. So Dad is in there, all alone, possibly scared, and we have to sit in the waiting room. Waiting. Which takes forever. I guess if it didn't it wouldn't be waiting. I don't like hospitals. And sitting here, waiting to have a tube shoved down my daddy's throat is not something I like, nor do I want to do. Mark comes out after I've bitten off my third fingernail (classy, I know). He informs us that Dad is "asleep", doped up on morphine and there isn't really any reason for us to hang out. No reason? No reason to spend time with the guy we all love? No reason to give him comfort even if it's just holding his hand? By this time, I'm starving and my irrationalities are coming out in full force. Mom decides we all need to go home and have lunch. She twists Mark's arm into letting her go back and "tell" Dad what we are doing. She's cute but crazy.
The rest of the day is a big giant blur. Hell, the rest of the week is a blur. The plan of action is this (apparently decided by Dad): we wait 2 weeks. If he isn't better and able to come off the ventilator, we take him off. Essentially, we pull the plug on the life of a man who shaped me so permanently I will never be the same. I can't believe or understand the complexity of this. I'm angry. I'm hateful. I'm so full of rage that I can't contain it. I lash out, specifically at hubs. And he takes it. He understands my anger and rage, he went through it last year.
Every day is a blur. No one at work knows what's going on. Except Dam. She is my savior. I tell her everything. And she tells no one. She keeps my secret. And I am forever grateful. I throw myself into work. Constantly checking my phone for missed calls any time I run to the bathroom. I make plans to go and visit my Dad as often as I can. By Wednesday I am so angry it is hard to go and visit. And that makes me feel guilty and hateful of myself. It is evident he is not getting better. He is gaining water weight. At some point he begins to open his eyes for brief periods of time. His mother comes to visit. I will not say anything more on that matter.
His brother and sister are in town. They are spending as much time with him as possible. It is decided that if he hasn't passed by Wednesday (Sept 1) (not quite the full 2 weeks but he is still not improving) that we will take him off the ventilator on Wednesday. I am getting angrier and angrier as the days go by. But I have to plan for a party. When all I want to do is crawl up in a ball and never leave the bed. I want hubs to bring me glass after glass of wine. This is what I want. It is not what I get. None of my friends coming to the party know what is going on. I am unusually private about this. They know he has cancer but they do not know of the hospital and the ventilator. They all know that I am having a difficult time, but not specifics. My comfort comes from Mo and Jax. I tell them everything. I am constantly getting texts and uplifting voicemails from them. They pull me through. Without them, I would not have gotten out of bed. Ever.
All day Saturday I am hoping I can pull myself out of my funk. Really, it's an appropriate funk, but not appropriate for birthday shenanigans. I help clean and prep some food, though hubs is really in charge and tries to kick me out of the kitchen. Silly boy. That's my kitchen. People start to arrive, there is lots of food and drinks. I have a glass of wine and the headache that has been creeping around the edges of my head decides to make a full blown appearance. I switch to coke and hope that helps. I didn't want to be an ungrateful host but I really just wanted everyone to leave. Of course I kept that tidbit to myself. We eat, drink, and be merry. We play games. They decorate my Malibu bottle. I open gifts. Finally everyone but Blake and Bethy leave. Blake and hubs go out to the patio to have a cigar and Bethy and hang on the couch. I want to tell her but am torn with the fact that I don't want to be a downer. She can tell something is wrong but I know if I spill I will start to cry and won't be able to stop.
Eventually her and Blake leave and we are left to clean up. I try and not think about Dad but I can't help it. Except I'm thinking about how angry I will be with him if he passes tomorrow (my birthday). I voice my concerns with hubs. He understands and consoles. I can't sleep. I lay there thinking that as soon as 12 am comes, something will happen. I am stressing over something that not only can I not control but something that hasn't even happened yet. This is what I do. I am a stresser. I finally manage to fall asleep and wake up without getting a phone call all night.
We have plans to "celebrate" my birthday with my family at breakfast. Except it's not really family. No Dad. No Brother. Just me, hubs, Mom, and B. Yes they are family, but not all of it. It doesn't feel right. I am angry still. This is not how it is supposed to be. It's supposed to be a joyous occasion. Not one filled with sadness. We eat at IHOP. It's ok. I have crepes. Of course Mom and B bring up the stupid angel food cake topic and I get so angry I yell at them. How would they like it their failures were repeatedly brought up over and over again at the enjoyment of others? Probably not at all. It's getting to the point where the sheer mention of angel food cake sends me into an angry fit that I will stay in for days. I can't help it. It will end badly. Eventually. They make me go back to Mom's house for a special gift. I'm already in a bad mood. They think they are being cute. They aren't. Not in the least, and hubs does not help. He thinks it's funny. I can tell you it isn't. Especially on my birthday. Their special gift turns out to be a cupcake that is decorated and on a little pedestal/canister, that is made from the failed angel food cake. They think this is cute. I want to throw it on the floor and stomp at it. Hubs tries to get me to appreciate it. I tell him to shove it. Mom tells me I'm not allowed to throw it out. No offense Mom, but I'm not keeping a cupcake made from a failed attempt at angel food cake forever. Or really once we get out of the house.
At this point, I'm angry and hubs tells me that I need to calm down. That it gave Mom something to focus on. I tell him once again to shove it. Next time he messes something up I'm going to repeatedly bring it up and tell everyone about it. (Did I mention that part? No? She told all the nurses that she was doing this and what I did. Thanks Mom.)
I just want to leave. I want to go visit Dad. I want to relax. I'm tired of dealing with my family. They stress me out. A lot. A horrible thing to say, but I'm being honest. They give you crap and the second you give it back they get all wounded and hurt. I call bs. I drag hubs out the door and we go home.
I drop him off and head to the hospital for what seems like the millionth time in the past few days. I know it's going to be hard. I have been thinking about what I was going to say to him for some time. I can't decide if I want to tell him the truth. It wouldn't be like me to pussyfoot around something. Even now. I decide to lay it all out there. He's watching baseball. Typical. By watching I mean laying in the bed with the TV. He's watching the back of his eyelids. He's not awake. Sometimes I like to believe he can hear us and understand. Other times, I'm not so sure.
So, I tell him everything. How I'm angry at Mom. Angry that he let her keep the stupid cake. Angry that he's in the hospital. Angry that it's my birthday and he's not there to celebrate with me. Angry at him for being sick. Angry at him for the fact that I don't have a birthday card from him, and never will again. Angry at myself for getting angry. Angry at the world. Angry at the fact that he'll never see my babies. That he won't be able to spoil them. I loved my pepere and I'm angry that my babies won't have one. By this time I'm crying. I tell him that I will be more angry with him (and might never forgive him) if he died on my birthday. I tell him this is selfish of me, but I can't help it. It's my birthday not his deathday. I tell him other things too, like how much I love him and all that mushy stuff that makes me cry. I am angry and can't help it. Even as I write this, I am still angry. I'm not sure when I will stop being angry. Not for awhile.
After telling him everything, I squeeze his hand and kiss his forehead. He is still my Daddy. And I'm not ready to let him go.
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