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A few hours ago I was so pissed that the only things I could write were so full of profanity I didn't bother. Well, pissed and scared.
My mom is sick. Her current health problems started over a year ago when she had a pulmonary embolism. Or not. The doctors keep changing their minds on whether that was what actually happened. Then they said she was diabetic. Or not. These days they at least have the current problem fairly well identified. She has anticardiolipin antibodies in her blood stream that are causing her blood clotting factor to swing wildly in either direction. Some days her PT level shoots up, which means her blood is so thin she is in danger of spontaneously bleeding out and dying on the spot. When her blood is so thin she gets foggy-headed and can't string two thoughts together. On other days her PT level drops through the floor, which means her blood is so thick that she is in danger for another embolism and (once again) sudden death. When her blood is so thick, she becomes easily angered, very agitated, and suicidal.
The hell of it is there is nothing that can be done. It can't be fixed. It just is what it is. Through it all she has continued working as much as she can, because her husband is unemployed so she has the health benefits. It has been over a year since she was able to work a full five days.
This evening I stopped by to pick something up that I forgot there over the weekend, and she was bad. She was angry and suicidal, and about to head into the hospital. John was getting the car ready to go, and when he saw I was there he asked if maybe I could take her to the hospital so that he could go to his monday night meeting. It took every ounce of restraint I had to not get into his face and point out that this was his fucking wife, she was sick and suicidal and going to the hospital, and if he really thought there was anyplace on the planet he should be besides at her side then he needed so screw his damn head on straight and get his fucking priorities straight. Jesus fucking christ on a crutch.
There you have it, obviously I didn't wait long enough to write this.
I just got an email from John, they are back home again. The doctor gave her a shot for her headache, and she has gone to bed. She has agreed not to hurt herself. John is on suicide watch.
You know what? I am not afraid that my mother will die. I'm afraid she won't die; that she'll have a stroke or an embolism or something that is not bad enough to kill her, but bad enough to leave her bed-ridden and at the mercy of caretakers. I am pissed that I don't trust her husband to take care of her, and terrified that I don't have the capacity to do it either.
My mom is sick. Her current health problems started over a year ago when she had a pulmonary embolism. Or not. The doctors keep changing their minds on whether that was what actually happened. Then they said she was diabetic. Or not. These days they at least have the current problem fairly well identified. She has anticardiolipin antibodies in her blood stream that are causing her blood clotting factor to swing wildly in either direction. Some days her PT level shoots up, which means her blood is so thin she is in danger of spontaneously bleeding out and dying on the spot. When her blood is so thin she gets foggy-headed and can't string two thoughts together. On other days her PT level drops through the floor, which means her blood is so thick that she is in danger for another embolism and (once again) sudden death. When her blood is so thick, she becomes easily angered, very agitated, and suicidal.
The hell of it is there is nothing that can be done. It can't be fixed. It just is what it is. Through it all she has continued working as much as she can, because her husband is unemployed so she has the health benefits. It has been over a year since she was able to work a full five days.
This evening I stopped by to pick something up that I forgot there over the weekend, and she was bad. She was angry and suicidal, and about to head into the hospital. John was getting the car ready to go, and when he saw I was there he asked if maybe I could take her to the hospital so that he could go to his monday night meeting. It took every ounce of restraint I had to not get into his face and point out that this was his fucking wife, she was sick and suicidal and going to the hospital, and if he really thought there was anyplace on the planet he should be besides at her side then he needed so screw his damn head on straight and get his fucking priorities straight. Jesus fucking christ on a crutch.
There you have it, obviously I didn't wait long enough to write this.
I just got an email from John, they are back home again. The doctor gave her a shot for her headache, and she has gone to bed. She has agreed not to hurt herself. John is on suicide watch.
You know what? I am not afraid that my mother will die. I'm afraid she won't die; that she'll have a stroke or an embolism or something that is not bad enough to kill her, but bad enough to leave her bed-ridden and at the mercy of caretakers. I am pissed that I don't trust her husband to take care of her, and terrified that I don't have the capacity to do it either.
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From:
*dreading the answer*