Well how have I been? I have been getting excited for the annual “Boulanger week long beach trip.” Bonne was arriving Friday and we were leaving from Saturday until next Saturday June 20-27th. Oh my God, I need a vacation. No responsiblities, just chilling with my relatives. We have been looking for almost a year for this token souvenir. All getting online together and googling for just the right thing to commemorate this years trip.
God. God has a sense of humor. Yep, funny guy.
Not so good. My dad had a doctors appt the Wednesday before the trip. We got him up and dressed. I was expecting this big, fat office visit to be all kudos’s for my dad because he has been on a diet for 4 months. His blood sugars are good, his triglycerides better than ever.
Everything is absolutely perfect.
Get to the doctors office, get my Dad in his wheel chair and he strokes out. OMG. So, right in front of the office the doctor and his entire staff come out and we have to call an ambulance because my Dad didn’t even have a pulse. I start bawling, I don’t like to include ambulances in my life. When my kids were small I would teach them that when they see an ambulance go by they should say a prayer for where the ambulance was headed because something bad was happening and lives were changing. When the doctor told his staff to call an ambulance I was like “No, we don’t need one, the hospital is just a few blocks away. I can run there faster with his chair than they can get here.” I don’t know what the doctor thought “cept the ambulance was called. Guess he doesn’t have confidence in my astute running styling.
4 days were spent sitting with my dad in a coma in Critical Care again. Now the doctor tells me that my Dad can’t withstand sitting up any more. His heart muscle has so deteriorated that when he sits up his heart cannot send enough blood to his feet as he lacks the volume. If he sits up he will die. Also said my dad “suffered a severe heart attack in the past two months.” I was like, how does that happen, how does a person have a massive heart attack and not know it? Apparently a lot of diabetics who eat poorly ruin the muscles around their heart along with the great gift of neuropathy. My poor dad.
Doctor said my dad was a minute from dying this time. If the ambulance wasn’t so close he would be a goner. The task of bringing him into the doctors was out of the question at this point and not to bring him back. I’m sure he was thinking that having a patient die in front of your office was a turn off. LOL. HE loves my Dad.
Whatever.!! That is a nice way to say that my dad is totally bed ridden. Doctor is great don’t get me wrong, he is awesome but I hate the barrier of bad news. I ask him if we can go home. I had seen enough. Defibrillators going off, bigimminies (bgm’s) and arrhythmia’s alarms going off 24/7 and the fucking flashing lights. They went from orange to red to orange red, orange red. I sat for four days and stared at those lights. Those lights flashing and alarming the worst sound screaming in my ear “Your dad is dying” Look here “Your dad is dying” in case you forgot “Your dad is dying”. I just wanted to go home with my Dad. I already lost a parent (22 years ago) at the hospital. Laid in bed with my Mom until God took her home. Don’t intend that for my Dad. Horrifying was what I would call it. So cold. So impersonal.
Doctor says I can go home as long as I bring hospice along. I’m like,… “I know my dad. I know every square inch of his body, why are you making me bring these strangers into my home to tell me what I already know. Who knows my Dad more than Me? No one. Not a soul.” I asked him “Why??“ He said they are better able to tell him what my dad needs than I am. I reckon I don’t know the right lingo. He said that they know how to make sure my Dad dies without pain and that is their specialty. Now we must dance through the hospice hoops. LoveJoy Hospice is great tho. They are thorough in asking questions so I think that seems like they care. I think surrendering to hospice means that I acknowledge my dad is GOING to die within 6 months. I can’t think that way. Won’t allow it.
The morning after we got to bring him home I told my Dad he had money in the bank and didn’t have to be on a diet any more because like Why? Why be on a diet when you are on your way out? I’d be like.. I want candy, chips and ice cream for every meal. Oops… I already do that. Ugh. Anyway to get to the point I was telling him he could pick any restaurant every day and I would make sure he got a nice meal brought home for him. Like a “make a wish/dish” thingy.
My Dad did the strangest thing that day after I told him about the money and restaurant eating he called me closer to his bed asked me to get close to his mouth. I asked him puzzled, “You going to kiss me?” No. He wanted to tell me about his “premonition”. Here is what he said. He said, and I quote “I want you to buy a big shot gun with the money.” I actually laughed. I laughed so loud. It seemed hilarious at the moment. Then he got this serious look on his face and asked me if he had ever in the past told me he had a premonition for me… I said “No” and he said: “You are going to have a home invasion. You are going to need the shot gun.” I said something flip like, “I think you had loss of oxygen at the hospital.” That pissed him off pretty good. He wanted to leave me knowing I was protected. I told him I have three hand guns. Those would be sufficient. Nope. So, I thought about it and bought the 12 gauge shot gun. I took it into him when I got home. He approved of the big boy ….but now I’m left freaked. I asked him if it was a person, persons, an animal like a bear, which door, day/night, do I live. He said “Only part I got was that you needed the shot gun.” I’m thinking all the time about it now. Lack of oxygen? God’s intervention? Ramblings of a crazy man? Paranoia perhaps? His and then mine???
A real premonition? Something he leaves me with is now fear. I had already been thinking about the fact that I have NEVER been alone in my house. NEVER. My house is big and has lots of places to hide. Etc. I live in the country way out in the woods. Here is the warning. Don’t ever try to sneak up on me. It will not go well. I may for the first time in 23 years have to lock doors.
I hate this new feeling… fear.
I live in Oregon for a reason. I like not worrying about shit. I don’t like worrying about stuff. It takes up too much space. I may just decide to let it roll and not change my lifestyle. I don’t even own a key to any door in my house. I’m also acutely aware about how huge this house is.
Colton graduates in June and leaves for his Psychology school and Caiti graduates from High School. Next June it will be just two of us rambling around this big house. Why didn’t I think more about the hugeness of my house instead of falling in love with the property? Way, way too much house. I did put the needs of my dogs above any other thought. Now you know what a brainiac I am… Not so much.
I am thoroughly and completely exhausted. I mean bone tired. I keep jokingly saying that my dad is going to break/crush me and bury me first. At this rate he may be right. Past two days has been so shitty and I mean that literally. He was impacted and hadn’t gone in 6 days. Guess he wanted to leave it for me. Ha. OMG every 13 minutes he calls. I can’t leave him on the bedpan. Can’t let him get bed pan bed sores. He has no meat on his ass. He is skin and bone below the waist. Poor guy. We are both exhausted but only one of us is raw and it ain’t me. Poor man. I have heard the doctors tell me a million times when we are at the hospital my dad is going to die. Yes, I know, we all die eventually that I find myself thinking that this time is just like all the other times. Just a scare. Then the fact those hospice people have to come keeps me grounded. My dad laughingly told me tonight he plans for another 6 years. I smiled. That is my Dad. This is my life and damn, I’m waiting for retirement. Isn’t that funny? I think it is ludicrous.
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