I've been spending lots of time with Susan (she is my sister who cares not to read this blog...it truly is okay (you BIMBO) since her not reading lends itself to her becoming fodder for my blog.
And all the while she is totally unaware that she is subject to scrutiny, one sided opinion(s), the butt of many jokes and so on...tee-hee).
Anyway, since our father has been so ill this past year Susan and I have been pretty much connected at the hip.
The two of us have mostly always been great friends. There were a couple of years when the most contact we had was chasing each other around the house catching the other by the hair..we did always reconnect though, as Marmie had us cleaning piles of our mixed hair from the stairs.
My sister and I share a trait (a quirk? a personality malfunction) which finds us in giddy hysterics at the worst possible time(s).
(Googie has demonstrated symptoms of this same issue)
Susan's quick wit and unique take on the world combined with some serious sleep deprivation can quickly spell disaster..
Or a pretty huge, embarrassingly loud, cackle fest.
This last all- night-er we pulled at the hospital is a stellar example of what I'm talking about.
We'd been at the hospital for hours, maybe 11 or so and our dad had not really gotten much treatment or a firm diagnosis.
Susan and I waited outside his room (really just to gather a breath, it's hard to watch a loved one suffer).
The frustration of the whole situation was forging a destructive path on my emotional well being and I was beginning to show signs of an explosion.
(Think Shirley McClaine's reaction in the movie Terms of Endearment when her dying daughter doesn't get her pain shot in time... see here)
After so many hours had passed and no one seemed to be doing much of anything Susan decided it was time to take matters into her own hands...
"I'll get us some quality help" Susan said.
She held up a pretend microphone and paged us a team of doctors.
"Paging Dr Larry"
"Dr Moe"
"Dr Curly"......
We (quietly) laughed so hard I peed my pants and Susan started her trademark "laugh-cry"... she laughed/cried so hard the tears rolled down her face...
Susan put her head down and her whole body shook with her hysterics.
A nurse, sitting at the station across the room took note.
She thought Susan was hysterical for other reasons and came over to calm her.
"We're doing the best we can" she said softly.
Susan caught the quick flowing tears that gathered under her eyes.
She wiped and nodded and bit her lip to keep her composure.
I hid in my sweatshirt neck and breathed my own BO... it worked like a sobering slap in da chops.
Stress relief comes in all forms.
Just sayin yo.
Showing posts with label becoming my dad's mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label becoming my dad's mom. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Monday, July 2, 2012
Being a spineless jellyfish ain't all it's cracked up to be....
My poor, poor, poor father has been ill and suffering through his illness laying in a hospital bed.
Laying there for hours and hours and hours on end has given him lots of time to think.
When he thinks this much he gets anxious.
And depressed.
He thinks of all the stuff that needs to be done around his home.
He misses farting around in his garage.
He longs for his best girl's wonderful home cooking.
And sweet Lord does he ever miss that mangy mutt of his.
(his mutt isn't all that mangy, in fact, he isn't mangy at all, the problem is that he is my dad's favorite child and that irks me to no end)
Anyway, I'll cut to the chase here...
My old man wants me to get him out of the hospital.
He doesn't care how I do it, just that I do.
Day by day as his physical health improves his mental health declines.
Like a see-saw with all the weight tipping first to one side, then to the other.
See....A few days ago the hospital was my dad's best friend, when I got him there he climbed into bed and under the covers with his shoes on.
He's not nuts, just happy to be where a sick man can get a bit of assistance.
Saw....A couple of days later the hospital becomes my dad's worst enemy.
He says things like "I gotta get the hell outta here" broken record style.
The other evening he called and with a voice I'd not heard before he whispered into my ear...
"I've got a plan Beth and I need your help"
"Oooookay" I say and he continues...
"I want you to page the dr and tell him that all my test results are great and that he needs to send me home"
"I want you to page him right away...okay?"
"Uhhhh Dad" I say "it's 6:30 on Saturday night"
"Page him Buffy, get me outta here. Please do this for me".
My dad asks relatively little of me...
So little that this little request is probably the only one I can think of.
Other than buying that damn dog of his some food the other day he's really not asked me for anything.
"Okay Dad" I say "I'll call you back in a bit".
I hang up and tell Daddio.
He asks me if I've lost my mind.
Who pages the doctor on Saturday night...???
Crazy, kiss ass daughters do...that's who.
Contemplating my options had me seesawing... I didn't have any plan to disturb the doctor.
But more so I had no plan on disappointing my dad.
Doing so would just confirm the fact that the dog is a better kid than I.
I put on my bathing suit and jumped in the pool. I floated around on the top of the water like a stingray.
Spread out in all my misery.
Which lie would I tell my dad..?
"The dr.'s brother was on call and he has no idea who you are...so it's not possible for him to release you...you'll have to wait until tomorrow"
"The PA was taking calls this weekend and she doesn't have the authority to get anybody outta anywhere"
"He never called me back Dad..sorry"
"Maybe I called the wrong number or put my number in wrong.."
I worried that using any of the above could come back and bite me in the azz... he would remember to chew them out about it the next day...
The lie would have to be one that he couldn't follow up on.
I thought to not call him at all and the next morning I could tell him that the phone broke.
Blasted damn luck...the home phone, the cell and my work cell all took a shit the same day/same time...
Crap happens Dad, yes it does.
That plan was dumb.
The next one even worse...
When my dad would call back to find out what was taking so long I'd use my best foreign accent (a mixture of Chinese and French) to inform him...
"Sorry, wrong number" I would say when he asked for me.
Desperate times call for desperate measures....
Back and forth, up and down, my thoughts and excuses teeter-tottered.
From absurd to more absurd.
It was a situation I was desperate to squirm my way out of.
Maybe I just wouldn't answer at all when he called.
As I floated in the pool my pathetic-ness began to get the best of me.
What the hell are you so scared of? I thought...
Your dad is a big boy, he can take a bit of disappointment.
Call him right this minute and tell him that you can't bother the doctor with such a silly emergency.
Oh hell no I couldn't do that.
Instead, I'll tell him to call Susan.
(Susan, my sister, the one who doesn't read this blog)
It takes a lot of nerve to say no to your dad...even when you're as old as I am, it takes guts and balls and a bit of "I don't give a frick that you are going to continue to love the dog better than me"
"Dad" I said when I called him back after almost two hours
(borrowing a Dr Laura-ism)
"you knooooow I'd swim through shark infested waters to bring you a lemonade...right?"
"You know I'd do anything for you"
"Aneeeeee-y-thing Dad. I love you that much...."
"I can't do this Dad, it's not right to bother the doctor on Saturday night, this is not a true emergency, he will lose all respect for both of us if I do this... he'll let you out when the time is right"
"Please be patient".
"I thought you would say that" my dad said.
"It's okay, I'll wait" he continued.
And just like..... (wait for it).... thaaaaaaaaaaa- t... (cue, finger snap)
I may have (finally) reached (true) adulthood.
(and of course totally, 100% surely, lost my standing as almost my dad's favorite kid)
Laying there for hours and hours and hours on end has given him lots of time to think.
When he thinks this much he gets anxious.
And depressed.
He thinks of all the stuff that needs to be done around his home.
He misses farting around in his garage.
He longs for his best girl's wonderful home cooking.
And sweet Lord does he ever miss that mangy mutt of his.
(his mutt isn't all that mangy, in fact, he isn't mangy at all, the problem is that he is my dad's favorite child and that irks me to no end)
Anyway, I'll cut to the chase here...
My old man wants me to get him out of the hospital.
He doesn't care how I do it, just that I do.
Day by day as his physical health improves his mental health declines.
Like a see-saw with all the weight tipping first to one side, then to the other.
See....A few days ago the hospital was my dad's best friend, when I got him there he climbed into bed and under the covers with his shoes on.
He's not nuts, just happy to be where a sick man can get a bit of assistance.
Saw....A couple of days later the hospital becomes my dad's worst enemy.
He says things like "I gotta get the hell outta here" broken record style.
The other evening he called and with a voice I'd not heard before he whispered into my ear...
"I've got a plan Beth and I need your help"
"Oooookay" I say and he continues...
"I want you to page the dr and tell him that all my test results are great and that he needs to send me home"
"I want you to page him right away...okay?"
"Uhhhh Dad" I say "it's 6:30 on Saturday night"
"Page him Buffy, get me outta here. Please do this for me".
My dad asks relatively little of me...
So little that this little request is probably the only one I can think of.
Other than buying that damn dog of his some food the other day he's really not asked me for anything.
"Okay Dad" I say "I'll call you back in a bit".
I hang up and tell Daddio.
He asks me if I've lost my mind.
Who pages the doctor on Saturday night...???
Crazy, kiss ass daughters do...that's who.
Contemplating my options had me seesawing... I didn't have any plan to disturb the doctor.
But more so I had no plan on disappointing my dad.
Doing so would just confirm the fact that the dog is a better kid than I.
I put on my bathing suit and jumped in the pool. I floated around on the top of the water like a stingray.
Spread out in all my misery.
Which lie would I tell my dad..?
"The dr.'s brother was on call and he has no idea who you are...so it's not possible for him to release you...you'll have to wait until tomorrow"
"The PA was taking calls this weekend and she doesn't have the authority to get anybody outta anywhere"
"He never called me back Dad..sorry"
"Maybe I called the wrong number or put my number in wrong.."
I worried that using any of the above could come back and bite me in the azz... he would remember to chew them out about it the next day...
The lie would have to be one that he couldn't follow up on.
I thought to not call him at all and the next morning I could tell him that the phone broke.
Blasted damn luck...the home phone, the cell and my work cell all took a shit the same day/same time...
Crap happens Dad, yes it does.
That plan was dumb.
The next one even worse...
When my dad would call back to find out what was taking so long I'd use my best foreign accent (a mixture of Chinese and French) to inform him...
"Sorry, wrong number" I would say when he asked for me.
Desperate times call for desperate measures....
Back and forth, up and down, my thoughts and excuses teeter-tottered.
From absurd to more absurd.
It was a situation I was desperate to squirm my way out of.
Maybe I just wouldn't answer at all when he called.
As I floated in the pool my pathetic-ness began to get the best of me.
What the hell are you so scared of? I thought...
Your dad is a big boy, he can take a bit of disappointment.
Call him right this minute and tell him that you can't bother the doctor with such a silly emergency.
Oh hell no I couldn't do that.
Instead, I'll tell him to call Susan.
(Susan, my sister, the one who doesn't read this blog)
It takes a lot of nerve to say no to your dad...even when you're as old as I am, it takes guts and balls and a bit of "I don't give a frick that you are going to continue to love the dog better than me"
"Dad" I said when I called him back after almost two hours
(borrowing a Dr Laura-ism)
"you knooooow I'd swim through shark infested waters to bring you a lemonade...right?"
"You know I'd do anything for you"
"Aneeeeee-y-thing Dad. I love you that much...."
"I can't do this Dad, it's not right to bother the doctor on Saturday night, this is not a true emergency, he will lose all respect for both of us if I do this... he'll let you out when the time is right"
"Please be patient".
"I thought you would say that" my dad said.
"It's okay, I'll wait" he continued.
And just like..... (wait for it).... thaaaaaaaaaaa- t... (cue, finger snap)
I may have (finally) reached (true) adulthood.
(and of course totally, 100% surely, lost my standing as almost my dad's favorite kid)
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