I made a resolution to make time for myself this year, to do things that "normal" people do, to make myself happy, and hopefully have a stress free year. Well, screw that resolution! I know we usually mess them up anyway, just didn't think it would be a week into the new year.
Today is my 35th birthday. I have never been one to really want to do anything extravagant for my birthday, but decided this year I would get a group of girlfriends together, go have dinner, and go dancing. I bought myself a new outfit and was really excited about going out and having "me time." Especially since I have spent the last month at home with my oldest son Brandon, who had his arm broken at school and I am dealing with a bunch of legal issues there. I am stressing about some medical issues that have popped up in my life. This past week was both Jorge and Mark's birthdays. I needed to be able to enjoy myself without worrying about a thing.
Some of you know that my father became ill last year. He has had bladder cancer for the past year, but it is not a major issue in his life. Last year, he went into complete renal failure from a mixture of contrast from a CT scan and his high blood pressure. I almost lost him last year, but he is a trooper and decided he was going to fight and start dialysis because he thought I needed him around. Of course I do, he's my daddy! But I also do not want to watch one more of my loved ones suffer! The road was rough at the beginning, in and out of the hospital. But he was managing OK after that. About a month or so ago, I noticed he was starting to look really bad. He said the cold weather was just affecting him. On New Year's Eve, my mom (they've been divorced 30 years) tried calling him and no answer. She decided to go see him and said he looked like crap. I tried calling him a few times this week, no answer. He called me yesterday morning and said he had woken up late, was late for dialysis, and would call me when he got home. He called me a little later and said he had been admitted to the hospital. Apparently he went to sleep on Tuesday night after dialysis and never woke up until 11:00 A.M. on Thursday. His breathing was very labored and he felt very weak. He has been on oxygen at home for the past 9 months or so. I went to the hospital last night, and he was not very coherent. The nurse (I will call her Mary Poppins on crack) told me he was doing lovely, he just has congestive heart failure (on top of everything else wrong with him.) His numbers were sky high. I gave her my number and asked her to please call me with any change in his condition and came home. I called this morning and his nurse (The bitch from hell) asked for a pin number. I told her I had no clue what she was talking about. She said to get any info over the phone, that I would have to know a pin number that they gave to my dad when he was admitted. I explained that my dad wasn't even really awake when I visited, and even if he was awake, he was in no condition to think about giving me some pin number. I also explained, that I am basically all he has. My brother could really care less about how my dad is doing. She said, we took him down to dialysis, he has breakfast, and if you want to know anymore, you need to come in here. (Now, my dad was admitted to this same hospital at least 5 times last year, and I was always called with any info they thought needed to be shared. I also happen to live an hour away, so it's not like I can hop in the car and be there in 5 minutes.) I tried calling my dad all day today, no answer. But since I am home with Brandon, I couldn't go down until tonight. My dad called me at 6:30 to tell me that he had been moved to the ICU everything else he said made no sense at all, especially the part about all the visitors in the room (angels?) I rushed down there and visiting hours for the ICU are different, you can only get into there until 7:00. I told the nurse, about how I had tried to call earlier, and was under the impression that he was still in a normal room. She let me in to see him. His breathing is terrible. Some things he said made sense, some things not so much. To be perfectly honest, he didn't "look" bad. He looked tan, and his face looked full (swollen), but he was gasping for air. And he just looked so scared. They would only let me visit for a few short minutes. When I was leaving, I told him I wanted a birthday hug and kiss (we are not a very affectionate family.) I leaned down and kissed him on the forehead and told him he didn't need to fight anymore. I had to tell Jorge and I had to tell Mark it was OK to let go. I couldn't get those words out of my mouth. He knew what I meant though. I didn't cry when I walked out, I actually felt a sense of peace. Then I called my mom (who has his medical power of attorney) and I told her that I was sure that if he gets to the point where he needs to be put on life support, I don't want that. He doesn't either, but from conversations we have had in the past, they both needed to hear me say that. I am ready to let me dad go. I was ready last year when he was so ill, but he kept fighting. His body can't take much more though. Who knows, he might turn around and surprise us all. I mean he is only 61. But then again, Mark was only 3 and Jorge was only 37. Whatever happens, I am ready. Now, I am home, by myself, on my birthday, writing in some crazy blog about my crazy life. Maybe, just maybe, one day things will be normal. One can only hope!
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