My dad somehow made it through.
When I got the call last Thursday, this is how it went:
MOM: Brianne, I need you to come home tonight. You're father's dying.
Ummm...yeah. So, there go I. Rush air flight back to Chicago which was, for the record, delayed from 10:25pm to 2:15am. I did find a nice bar lady who served me a double whisky at 5 'til bar close (8:55, maybe?), which helped the bad news not seem so...immediate. I only broke down two times in the airport - yeah for me!
So anyway, Dad went into surgery on Friday morning. He had been suffering from internal bleeding that had gone undetected until...you know...he started vomitting *blood* Wednesday night. It's the subtle hints...
And the surgery went unbelievably well. He was taken off of the Coumadin (blood thinner prescribed to minimize potentially fatal blood clots that cause strokes and lung blockages), which apparently allowed the bleeding to heal on it's own. He was able to walk around a bit on Sunday and was sent home this past Monday! Mom's calling him our Christmas miracle. Whatever...dude's gonna be on hospice fairly soon here.
I'm kind of pissed that they were so adamant about the fact that Dad had 12 hours to live. Jesus - what a fucking roller coaster. They told *Dad* that he only had 12 hours to live. We did that whole I-know-I'm/You're-about-to-die-let's-say-how-proud-we-are-of-each-other-and-relive-all-the-good-times moment in his hospital room at around 4:30am that last Friday when I finally arrived in Chicago. We were all prepared for him to die. Dude's got incurable cancer - he's not going to be here much longer. We all know that - including him. I'm not saying I wished he had died - I am so...fulfilled...at peace...that I get to spend one more Christmas with him; that he'll get to see the presents I so carefully picked out for him and that he'll get to see me open his presents to me. That we'll get to watch "A Christmas Story" one more time together. Fuck - but we were ready for the inevitable, you know? It's like Death said: Ha ha - just joking - he's not really going to die tonight! Hope you enjoyed your full plane flight at 2am jammed between two people with asses bigger than their seat allotment! Night folks, I'll be here all week!
Ugh.
And to top it off, I was ready for funeral leave. Told work I'd probably be gone all week through Christmas weekend. When I found out I wasn't going to need that icky black suit, I called up to see if I could take FMLA (Family Medical Leave Act - roughly put, it lets family members take unpaid leaves of absence during family medical emergencies), but it turns out I haven't been working at my shit-ass job long enough to qualify. So, I had to come back to work Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, and then I get to make the trek down to Chicago again on Friday morning.
Okay. I'm tired. I haven't written that much in one sitting since that 17 page bullshit paper on Scientology for my junior year Philosophy of Religions class that I wrote in six hours. Good night.
When I got the call last Thursday, this is how it went:
MOM: Brianne, I need you to come home tonight. You're father's dying.
Ummm...yeah. So, there go I. Rush air flight back to Chicago which was, for the record, delayed from 10:25pm to 2:15am. I did find a nice bar lady who served me a double whisky at 5 'til bar close (8:55, maybe?), which helped the bad news not seem so...immediate. I only broke down two times in the airport - yeah for me!
So anyway, Dad went into surgery on Friday morning. He had been suffering from internal bleeding that had gone undetected until...you know...he started vomitting *blood* Wednesday night. It's the subtle hints...
And the surgery went unbelievably well. He was taken off of the Coumadin (blood thinner prescribed to minimize potentially fatal blood clots that cause strokes and lung blockages), which apparently allowed the bleeding to heal on it's own. He was able to walk around a bit on Sunday and was sent home this past Monday! Mom's calling him our Christmas miracle. Whatever...dude's gonna be on hospice fairly soon here.
I'm kind of pissed that they were so adamant about the fact that Dad had 12 hours to live. Jesus - what a fucking roller coaster. They told *Dad* that he only had 12 hours to live. We did that whole I-know-I'm/You're-about-to-die-let's-say-how-proud-we-are-of-each-other-and-relive-all-the-good-times moment in his hospital room at around 4:30am that last Friday when I finally arrived in Chicago. We were all prepared for him to die. Dude's got incurable cancer - he's not going to be here much longer. We all know that - including him. I'm not saying I wished he had died - I am so...fulfilled...at peace...that I get to spend one more Christmas with him; that he'll get to see the presents I so carefully picked out for him and that he'll get to see me open his presents to me. That we'll get to watch "A Christmas Story" one more time together. Fuck - but we were ready for the inevitable, you know? It's like Death said: Ha ha - just joking - he's not really going to die tonight! Hope you enjoyed your full plane flight at 2am jammed between two people with asses bigger than their seat allotment! Night folks, I'll be here all week!
Ugh.
And to top it off, I was ready for funeral leave. Told work I'd probably be gone all week through Christmas weekend. When I found out I wasn't going to need that icky black suit, I called up to see if I could take FMLA (Family Medical Leave Act - roughly put, it lets family members take unpaid leaves of absence during family medical emergencies), but it turns out I haven't been working at my shit-ass job long enough to qualify. So, I had to come back to work Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, and then I get to make the trek down to Chicago again on Friday morning.
Okay. I'm tired. I haven't written that much in one sitting since that 17 page bullshit paper on Scientology for my junior year Philosophy of Religions class that I wrote in six hours. Good night.
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When it goes on that long you become... desensitized, I didn't want to see him suffer but I didn't want him to go either, if that makes any sense. I can say now, that I am glad that he is not suffering anymore, but I do miss him
Anyhoo, I will keep you in my thoughts & I hope that you get some kickass stuff for X-mas.
Much love,
Banxx