So, the shit is hitting the fan in my life, again. I wasn’t going to write about it, but like all of my best ideas, I told Tina and she pointed out to me that I was right and stupid for not doing it before.
I hate that it feels like I only blog when things are bad. Let’s be honest though, I’m not an interesting enough person to keep writing ‘the Viking makes me incredibly happy, I’m struggling with my mental health issues, and I love my parents but they are driving me a bit nuts’ over and over again without boring even myself. Also, I was busy with #YesAllDaughters. It was an amazing, empowering time working with amazing empowering women.
Interesting mental health side note: there are now genetic tests to see how your body will react to medications, and my shrink had one done for me. It turns out my body was not absorbing my main anti-depressant, and now we are trying new medication more suited to my genetics. I’m pretty gobsmacked that this is even a thing. I’ve been on the new medication for almost a month now. I really can’t gauge how it is working though because…. you guessed it, shit is all kinds of fucked up right now.
The past two/three years have been really hard on my dad health wise. The last six months have been even worse. Right now, he is in the hospital and has been there for two weeks. It has been rough. My dad is a strong, stubborn man. He is a fighter. It means he lives through a lot of things which normally kill other people. It also means my mom, my sister, and I have seen him very near death many times, felt the terror, and then reconciled with the fact he was okay afterwards.
One would think this would mean it would induce less intense reactions each time, or we would become numb to it.
No. Not even a little bit.
We have accepted the fact he is not long for this earth. We have had the quality of life discussions. We have talked and planned about what would happen after. It is all helpful. Being able to talk to each other openly and having an idea of how we are going to handle life after helps the fear of how we will get along without him. But, the actual nitty-gritty of watching him go through this still fucking sucks. It is still traumatic as hell. Sometimes it hurts so bad you can barely breath.
Some days are okay. Today is an okay day. I’m being lazy. I have a ton of shit I HAVE to do. I want to do several nice things for my mom since she is coming home for the night tomorrow night. If it were just things for the Viking house, I would blow it off, but this is for Mom. She has been strong, brave, loyal, loving, and simply amazing. I want her to come home to a house with clean floors and possibly scones. I want her to have something nice. It’s almost 5pm and I haven’t moved to do any of it. I’m actively making myself okay with it. It doesn’t matter if this stuff is done at 6pm or midnight. Self care says taking the time to drink tea and write this is okay. Since this is an okay day for me, I’m kind of enjoying it.
Yesterday, on the other hand, was not an okay day. I had just as many troubles getting around and doing stuff, but it was for a different reason. I HAD to go to the hospital to bring my mom things. I was trying to be good. I was trying to be strong. It took me 15 minutes to put on pants because I started ugly crying three times during the process. I’ve never been particularly fond of pants, but normally I can successfully put them on without snot-faced crying. I snot-faced cried in the shower, while I drank my tea, and during practically every other activity I did yesterday until I got to the hospital. I only cried a little once and managed to make my sister feel bad by accident, which makes me feel like a douche.
Today, I find the pants thing funny. I’m also trying to be okay with the insane crying. I’m telling myself by allowing myself those bad days and moments the emotions can get out and not blindside me later when all the other emotions are trying to come out in a gross flood of tears and snot. (When I say ugly cry, I mean UGLY cry with the red face and runny nose and the weird hiccup-y choking sounds.) I still feel like a douche for making my sister feel bad.
Right now, I’m hoping dialysis can clear his body of enough toxins that he can become more lucid. I have a voice recorder in the room with him. My greatest wish right now is to catch him lucid enough to record him talking about how much he loves mom and his grand babies. If I can get some extra stories on tape, I would love it, but the love note to Mom is the very most important thing. I don’t want to forget my dad’s voice. I remember his stories. I have a few pictures of him, but I need to have his voice. I should have done this sooner, but I’m refusing to beat myself up over what I should have done. It’s pretty damn pointless. Please, all the Powers that Be, let me get his voice on recorder.
I’m out of tea and those floors won’t mop themselves. (Why don’t we have self mopping floors yet, damn it?) and I really want to make those scones. I just wish I didn’t have to put on pants.