Grab a chair and a couple of root beers...

Well, first off, I'd like to show you a lucky shot that I got at the Impertinent Daughter's game today. One of our forwards jumped to intercept the ball, and I just happened to click the shutter at just the right moment.




They lost, 5-2, and I have to say, it is the first game I've been to in the five years since the Impertinent One started playing where someone got a red card called on them. A boy from the other team was trash-talking and got frustrated by the lack of response from our kids, so, he decided to up the stakes a bit, and punched one of our guys in the face. Not a smart move, and it not only got him thrown out of the game, it got him thrown out of the complex.

In other news, my dad is improving. I called last night, after giving myself sufficient time to calm down, and got no answer, so I thought, "Okay, Mom must have called 911." I almost called her cell phone, then remembered that she said the battery was dead and it hadn't been recharged yet, so, I called the Practical Sister, knowing that Mom would have called her first. No answer. I called her cell, and got voice mail, which told me her phone was turned off. So I called the Blonde Sister, and same thing. Still, I didn't panic, because I figured, "Okay, Mom called 911, they're at the hospital, and knowing both my sisters, they're in the treatment room with Mom, so their cell phones are turned off." So... I stopped worrying. Because at that point, it was completely out of my hands, and worrying (which I can do on a monumental scale) would only make my hair fall out faster. So, I went to bed with the cell phone and the land line next to the bed.

Gave it some time this morning, then called Mom, and found out, no... they hadn't gone to the emergency room last night. And the phones went out for about 3 hours last night. At which point I almost completely freaked out, but she quickly reminded me that the Dangs, neighbors who live two houses down, all had functioning cell phones, and had already told her if she needed anything, to come down, no matter what time of day or night. This did not make me feel better, imagining my unsteady, slightly dizzy mother traipsing down a dark street (they have no street lights yet) to knock on the neighbor's door.

So I said, "But, what about Dad? Is he still in pain? What's going on?"

She made this aggravated sort of noise and said, quite plainly and with great exasperation, "Your father is an idiot!!"

Well, yeah, I kind of knew that, but... what brought this on?

"The doctors told him and told him, over and over again, when you eat, you cannot lie down! You have to sit up to eat, and for 30 minutes afterwards, even with this feeding tube!" She nearly snarled. "So, all that pain he was having last night?"

"Yes?"

"It was because he insisted on going straight to bed after I'd fed him, and he wouldn't let me give him the full amount the doctor wanted him to eat. And then it came back up, and he was hurting, and just didn't want to mess with it anymore. And he was in so much pain last night..."

"Wait a minute... he threw up? Why didn't you tell me this last night?"

"Well, I didn't want to worry you."

o_O!!

"He's much better this morning!" she said sheepishly.

And he is. Want to know why?

The home health care nurse came by this morning and apparently read Dad the riot act where eating and using the feeding tube is concerned. She stood over him after giving him his nutrition through the feeding tube to make sure that he sat up for the entire thirty minutes, glaring at him the whole time.

I'm still laughing as I picture it.

Thing is, he felt so much better afterwards that he didn't go immediately to bed, so while the nurse went around doing all the things that she is supposed to do, checking on meds, checking my mother, etc, he sat up and watched a little TV, did a crossword, and then ate a little more before she left. It might be that one of the reasons his stomach was hurting so much was because it was empty!

Then Mom told me the electric company called and informed her that it could be weeks before they get their power turned back on. They're working on the larger areas without power first, and are having to go house by house. As you can imagine, this did not make me happy. But when I asked her what she was going to do, fully prepared to argue again that she needed to pack herself and Dad up to go stay with the Blonde Sister, she said, "Well, the Practical Sister pretty much got fed up when she heard that, so she went out and bought a large generator for us, and she and D's husband, T, are going to bring it over and hook it up."

"That's great," I said, "But who is going to make sure it keeps running? Who's going to add more gas when it runs out? Because Mom, neither you nor Dad are in any kind of shape to do that, you know that."

She said, "Yes, I do know that. Your Daddy can barely stand on his own sometimes, so no, he won't be messing with it. The Practical Sister is going to come stay with us until the power is back on."

This made me blink, because she had said repeatedly that she couldn't leave D alone. Well, either D is chasing her out, or my sister is in serious need of a break. I'm suspecting answer B.

So, my dad is better, the visiting nurse was supposed to come back this evening, so I'll probably call in a little while to check and see if she did any more glaring (more power to her! My dad NEEDS to be glared at, believe me!). And to see if they've got the generator hooked up yet (they were supposed to do it this afternoon).

I'm just glad he's getting better, though I still would have felt much better if they had called EMS, even if it was just to check him over (which they have done before). Still, all's well that ends well, I guess. I just wish it didn't come with personal heart failure on my part! It's not my kids giving me grey hair... it's my PARENTS!

*flump*

I'm very tired tonight. I got over-heated taking my kids to a late afternoon soccer clinic with the local pro-team, the Austin Aztex, and came home feeling absolutely crummy. My temp was 102 when I got in, oh yay.

Then, the Practical Sister called.

I have come to terms with a few things regarding my dad since yesterday, after talking to my mother. He's not doing well, and he's having a very hard time since having had the stents put in. It's very hard for him to eat.

Well, my sister was very upset when she called, and it took some time to calm her down, but finally, she said she wanted me to call our mother and talk with her again, in order to see what conclusion I came to after talking to her. So, I did.

Dad has stopped eating.

I know he's frustrated. I know he's tired. Very, very tired. He's tired, and he's upset, and he's anxious, because he can't eat without throwing up now. It's exhausting him. And he's in pain. He's in pain, and he's having a hard time taking the pain medication they've prescribed, because it just comes right back up again. This is making him very short-tempered, and he's taking it out on Mom.

To top it all off, he's also nauseated almost all the time. Part of this is because he's not following the doctor's orders. He's supposed to sit up, practically ram-rod straight, when he eats. Then he's supposed to walk or just remain upright for about 30 minutes afterwards to allow gravity to do what his esophagus can no longer do, which is make the food go down. But he can't. He's just... too weak, too tired, too... just too.

You could say his quality of life right now sucks.

If he doesn't eat, he's going to get weaker. If he doesn't eat, well, he's diabetic...

I am trying to see this from his perspective. He's 85 years old. He's already been through treatment for this cancer once, treatment that gave him 8 years longer than they ever expected him to have. Now he's being poked and prodded by doctors, and it's all just making him feel worse.

I don't want my dad to suffer. But I can see that my sisters aren't ready to let him go. They don't see it the way I do, they don't see him the way I do. As far as they're concerned, he's the Unbreakable Marine. He's outlived his own father, and his uncles, and most of his cousins. I had said at first that the way things were going last week, that on the one hand, we'd be lucky to see another Christmas with him, and yet on the other, knowing how stubborn he is, we could be celebrating Father's Day with him next summer.

I'm beginning to think I'll be lucky if I get to hear him sing Happy Birthday to me in that goofy little way of his one more time. And you know, guys, after that, I'll be 45 forever, because there will be no more birthdays for me.

Oh, gods, my dad is dying, and my sisters have no fucking clue, because they don't want it to be real.

Well, I don't want it to be real, either, but... someone's gotta face the music, I guess. Might as well be me. I'm just... not ready yet.

I don't think I ever will be.

My parents sent me another one of THOSE emails. You know, the kind that have a petition or some such attached to it, and a bunch of semi-hysterical diatribe from righteously outraged citizens, blah, blah, blah, and we must do something NOW to protect our Sacred American Way, blah, blah, blah... and I have to tell you, there just isn't enough chocolate on the planet to help with that! What I usually do is skim it, then go to Snopes.com and find the reference, tag it, and email it back to them. By the next day, I get a sheepish email from my dad, apologizing, or saying he had no idea, and he'll be more careful next time... until the next one arrives a few days or weeks later.

My dad is 83 years old, and taught my sisters and I to always check things out for ourselves, never take anyone's word for granted no matter how well we knew them, and make up our own minds. Which is why I find these constant emails so puzzling. Because I can tell Dad is sending this stuff on without any thought whatsoever. Just because his cousin the preacher, or his friend the doctor sent it on.

Parents. No matter how old you get, they still drive you nuts!