It seems like, when it rains, it downpours. I only have a tiny health update. My labs from my Endocrinologist came back, my Vitamin D is low (again) and my AST (liver enzyme) is high (again). Doc said to take my Vit. D weekly again and that I shouldn’t be too concerned about my liver lab results because they were normal previously. They’ll keep an eye on it, but I think I’m going to make an appointment with my Hepatologist. My liver enzymes have been abnormal one too many times since 2012 for there to be nothing wrong. I refuse to believe that any of this is normal. I do take into consideration, the medications that I take, which I know give my liver a hard time. But, c’mon, something is going on and I’m going to be a persistent bitch until I get some answers. So, that’s that. I have my Cardiology appointment Wednesday, so I’ll update on that. Oh, and my back doctor is making me go see him for them to fill my fucking NSAID. I told them that I just got done with surgery and seeing the surgeon in July, so why do I need to come in for this. So stupid, so I have that on Wednesday as well.
That nonsense is just that, nonsense, and not the purpose of this blog-therapy session.
I may have briefly touched on the health issues my dad has, I can’t remember. Well, he’s a walking medical mystery. Nobody, including him, has any idea how he survived the things he has be through. And yet he has. One of his many ailments is having afib and congestive heart failure. He’s had this for, a decade or more maybe? He’s 70, and the bottom finally fell out last week. He was in the hospital (a common occurrence) and after the, fourth[?] visit to the ER, his doctors FINALLY pulled their heads from their asses and came up with a concrete game plan. They said that he would need to have open heart surgery anywhere from six months to two years from now. Well that timeline was shit. Wednesday, they told him [after reviewing imaging and lab results] the damage was more extensive than they realized and decided to do surgery on Monday or Tuesday. It wasn’t until Wednesday that I found out they couldn’t do a catheterization and had to open his chest. I. Fucking. LOST IT. I mean, I was inconsolable. The only thing that came to my mind was losing him and what that meant not only for me, but for Ava as well. And now I’m tearing up just thinking about it. God. I called him [at the hospital] and struggled to form syllabus that resembled any actual words, I was crying that hard. I kept telling him that he couldn’t leave me, because I don’t know what to do without him. He told me over and over that he was going to be fine and once he healed completely, he would be as good as new. After a few hours I was able to calm down, even after his doctors decided to move his surgery date from next week to Friday. When I saw him before they took him into the OR, I told him that he has to wake up. He has always had issues with anesthesia, so with this being as extensive as it was, I was terrified he would flat-line on the table. I was a nervous mess, waiting for the hospital to call and tell us how everything went. I couldn’t relax until he woke up, he had to wake up. I’m happy to report that he did wake up and is in recovery. I saw him today and when I went to hug him and told him thank you for waking up. He’s got a long road ahead, but he’s going to be okay.
It’s been tough not having him to talk with in the mornings that I drop Ava off at preschool. My mom and I are starting to talk casually, but still no resolution. Right now, he’s all I have in the way of immediate family (minus Dan and Ava obviously). Partly by choice, I have nonexistent relationships with my three siblings. So that leaves just my dad. He’s always kind of been my partner in crime. If the two of us are in the same room, there’s 100% chance that there will be political incorrectness and plenty of colorful words. Growing up, I would tell everyone how much I wanted to be just like him. He and I have had a lot of bumps in the road, one in which resulted in us barely speaking for a solid two years. I was angry with him for things he was doing, and I made it very obvious. Here’s the thing, I’m the youngest of four, and we all have different relationships with him. My half-brother and I are more like my dad [than my brother or sister]. Physically, the three of us look like Tri-State area guidos and have substandard medical histories. We three also have common mental illnesses, like depression and PTSD, along with a predisposition to addiction. That one is probably my least favorite trait that my dad passed on. Any who, to say that I was afraid of losing him is a gross understatement. He’s the one person who understands what it means to be chronically ill and knows the bullshit I’m going through and vice versa. He’s a huge source of support for me and I panicked at the thought of him not being there. My parents house wouldn’t be the same without him and I don’t know how well I would deal with being in that space. To be honest, my first thought was to book it out of here and move back to Vegas. Looks like my flight instincts are alive and kicking. You ever get tired of yourself and your shit? Yeah, I’m annoyed, but not surprised at my continued lack of coping skills. Just one of my many charming qualities I suppose…
Updates on doctor appointments to come later in the week.