It's been a long week. Dad is out of ICU, healing incredibly well from the surgery, so says the surgeon. He's very confused about a lot of things, but I'm sure that a good part of that is the pain medication. He says he doesn't want anymore of it in one moment, and in the next, pushes the button on the pump. I slept in this morning till past nine. My mother called, and prior to coffee, I don't make much sense on the telephone, so I guess I'd better call her back. I need a day, few hours at least, to rest.
My body is not doing so well at this pace, and it's getting exhausting trying to hide my discomfort from both of them. Dad noticed it last night and started to worry about me driving home over the mountain. I just praying for the strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
I'm struggling to stay in the moment myself. Worried about what future days are going to bring. They're talking nursing home. To me, of course - not to him. My husband drew up powers of attorney for each of them and living wills. I've been trying to ease him into the truth of his condition, finally using the word "tumor" a couple of days ago, but not yet the word "cancer." The doctor has only once used the word with me, and then again with my husband on the telephone last night. Is it natural to avoid giving someone this news? And...how cruel is it that we've thought it better to let him heal from the acute situation before slamming home the truth about -- I almost said the long-term. Doesn't look like there's going to be much of a long-term. I've envisioned him refusing nursing home care, going home with my mother who can't take care of him, turning my own home and health further upside down bringing him here where we have no room for him....projecting beyond this moment, this day, and envisioning a big rod and reel, with my mind out there on a barbed hook where I have to keep reeling it back in.
There hasn't been a whole lot more of struggling with how I feel about him. I know that when I see his eyes, scared and full of tears, anything that happened more than twenty years ago just doesn't matter. I do find the sustained effort to be the grown-up pretty tiring. I have a child-like mode that I slip into to release stress, to laugh and be silly -- a sort of playdate with my inner child. Well, I feel my inner child is pretty neglected right now. I haven't had the energy to play with her since this all started. She's in the corner pouting, and by day's end, I can't even put my arm around her to comfort her.
Time's a-tickin' here. My second cup of coffee is down the hatch, and though my legs don't feel like they'll cooperate, I'm going to point them towards the shower.
Till later...
My body is not doing so well at this pace, and it's getting exhausting trying to hide my discomfort from both of them. Dad noticed it last night and started to worry about me driving home over the mountain. I just praying for the strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
I'm struggling to stay in the moment myself. Worried about what future days are going to bring. They're talking nursing home. To me, of course - not to him. My husband drew up powers of attorney for each of them and living wills. I've been trying to ease him into the truth of his condition, finally using the word "tumor" a couple of days ago, but not yet the word "cancer." The doctor has only once used the word with me, and then again with my husband on the telephone last night. Is it natural to avoid giving someone this news? And...how cruel is it that we've thought it better to let him heal from the acute situation before slamming home the truth about -- I almost said the long-term. Doesn't look like there's going to be much of a long-term. I've envisioned him refusing nursing home care, going home with my mother who can't take care of him, turning my own home and health further upside down bringing him here where we have no room for him....projecting beyond this moment, this day, and envisioning a big rod and reel, with my mind out there on a barbed hook where I have to keep reeling it back in.
There hasn't been a whole lot more of struggling with how I feel about him. I know that when I see his eyes, scared and full of tears, anything that happened more than twenty years ago just doesn't matter. I do find the sustained effort to be the grown-up pretty tiring. I have a child-like mode that I slip into to release stress, to laugh and be silly -- a sort of playdate with my inner child. Well, I feel my inner child is pretty neglected right now. I haven't had the energy to play with her since this all started. She's in the corner pouting, and by day's end, I can't even put my arm around her to comfort her.
Time's a-tickin' here. My second cup of coffee is down the hatch, and though my legs don't feel like they'll cooperate, I'm going to point them towards the shower.
Till later...
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