Shit has happened

I have an enlarged left ovary. The ER (long story. suffice it to say that you don't need to know how they get the contrast material into you for an appendix CT scan) said it was a cyst, but my NP wanted to check. Grumble,grumble, etc. Went in for an ultrasound. Pelvic ultrasounds are NOT FUN when you're female.

Turns out that the radiologist didn't get the results back in time for my NP to review them before the long weekend, so I'm stuck. Waiting until Tuesday to find out WTF is up with my ladybits. The odd of it being just a cyst are very, very good. I know this. I also know that nearly every woman gets an ovarian syst at some point in her life. But that doesn't change the fact that I'm flipped the fuck out. Not sleeping tonight hasn't exactly helped, either.

End Game

Over the last week, Dad's been getting worse. He started slipping on Father's Day, when he asked me why I was coming over so early - at 5PM. It progressed through non sequitors - telling Mom that the stereo remote also controls the pump to empty the washbasin - on to conviction that he had to go somewhere to claiming that he had to go home (he WOULD NOT believe us when we told him he was home) to not recognizing us to where he is today: in a coma.

This is, I'm told, typical of this kind of situation - going on a trip is how some people frame their coming death, and the coma is, frankly, a blessing for him and for us.

But he's still dying by inches, and there's nothing I can do.

I give up

Hauled my ass out of bed at waaaay to fucking early o'clock this morning to see the doc. She confirmed my suspicions: Not only are my sinuses infected, my back is torn to shit, too. Stress turns me into SUCH a fucking klutz! So, I have painkillers and antibiotics and muscle relaxants, along with strict orders to stay the fuck in bed for a couple of days. Luckily, SisterB is home for a few days, and she can stay with mom and dad. Fun times!

Mom is putting off the Hospice discussion - she's trying to work up the nerve to broach the subject with dad. Who, btw, is looking 100% better today than yesterday. He was actually trimming junipers when I got home! he also ate a whole cup of yogurt - might not seem like a lot, but it's more than he's eaten in a good long while.

The gods have no fucking sense of proportion

Dad didn't get out of his (outpatient) blood transfusion until midnight. We got him up the stairs, got our books together, and headed to Meijer to grab some food on the Bridge card. Get checked out, and the self scanner machine spits out a receipt for a bout double what our actual order was. The math worked, the time stamp was plausible... Long story short, I got a leeetle bit bitchy at the clerk. When I apologized after checking the balance on our card, she just told me, "Girl, I didn't pay you no mind." We're late night regulars at that particular store, to the point where this clerk comments if she sees us during the day. So very, very glad she wasn't offended.

We get home, hauling our crap up the stairs, and find that grandma's front door is wide open. Had to wake her up to make sure everything was okay. It was. Yay.

So now, it's ass early and we have to go get dad down the steps again because heaven forefend they scedule a decent amount of time between transfusions... The only silver lining in thie particular cloud is that my parents have a memory foam mattress topper. I might actually get some sleep.

You know you're having a bad week when...

You start bawling in front of the UPS guy when he asks how your dad is doing. The UPS guy who works my parents route is great. He's one of the coolest guys I know. And while I wouldn't call him a family friend, exactly, he's cool. And he asked how Dad is, and I started crying. I fucking hate cancer. HATE it.

ETA: Dad's in the hospital AGAIN - outpatient for more blood and platelets. They're not going to look at the bladder infection until after he's through the course of levaquin. So, fun!

It's a minefield out there

After Dad finished dry heaving, and after the 'if it gets worse, I don't care what you want, I'm dragging your ass to the ER' conversation (Dad and I are a lot alike - we both sometimes need a kick in the arse to do what needs done), Mom and I played a very relaxing game of Scrabble - relaxing because I won by something like 100 points). I could feel a tension headache lurking in my neck on the drive over, but figured helping the trees grow and getting my arse kicked at Scrabble would help relax me. HA! HA, I say!

So I was a pretty unhappy camper when Mom asked me to go shopping for her and gave me enough money for my xanax and firornal. Target andMeijer were both filled with screeching kids, team member radios squawking, the whole nine yards. To add insult to injury, my blood sugar crashed BIG TIME in the checkout line. Happy fun times! I got some McD's, went home, tried to play some more Scrabble (had to concede when I got something like my fifth round of NO FUCKING VOWELS!). The 'migraine' was so bad that trying to watch numb3rs literally amde me sick. The flickering... Have been alternating fiornal and vikes for a few hours, that's taken the edge off.

I think I'm going to throw up

Literally. Dad's not taking the levaquin so well. Or the levaquin's not taking well to some of the other crap in his system - whichever, he slept until almost five, and has been dry heaving since then, with a hellish nosebleed. We're thinking about bundling him up and dragging him to the ER.

I'm resigning as a member of the human race

Rep Foxx's remarks have spread around the intertubes like so much manure, but I've managed to avoid actually hearing any of it. But watching Rachel Maddow, I caught it. Maddow had Matthew Sheppard's mother as a guest and had enough class to ask Mrs Sheppard for permission to play the clip. I would have added an apology on behalf of the human race, but that's just me.

The perfect storm of homophobic bullshit this week has left me... well, as angry as a person who just lost a good friend and has a father recieving a blood transfusion and levaquin can really be. How can it possibly be any of anyone's business who sleeps with whom, who has what kind of kiny sex with whom, as long as the act are consensual and private?

Conflicted Grief

My father's dying, and we're all having blast. Sounds... odd, yes? And we're not having fun all the time, but dad seems to have decided that snark and sarcasm are going to get him through this, so snark and sarcasm it is. And we're laughing, a lot, maybe because laughing is easier than crying.

A couple of stories:

Dad saw a physical therapist at the cancer center because he hasn't been able to walk for a long time, and he's getting tired of sitting. In her snottiest voice, she responded, "You do know you have cancer, right? It's in your lungs and your brain."

And in his most sarcastic voice (what's left of it) he responded, "Don't forget the ribs!"

The Cancer Center gave Mom a great big waste of paper from LiveStrong, Lance Armstrongs foundation. It's basically Cancer for Dummies, dumbed down quite a bit. They define sadness and what can cause sadness, for fuck's sake! It also says that if you can't express your feelings in words, you should paint them. Sister then went to Dad and told him that if he ever needs to express any feelings, he could paint them. She got flipped off for her troubles. Then Sister's best friend M got in on it. Now my parents have fingerpaints, paper, canvas and squirt guns for dad to shoot people who annoy him.

We're getting by.

I don't get migraines

I get tension headaches that mimic migraines to the extent that the sound of typing this post makes me wince. But they're not migraines! Cheezus god, deliver us from bullshit.

Saw a counselor today, it really helped. Cried a lot, but that's kind of the point. Then I got to haul Grandma Cs slow ass all over town - no, no, I couldn't drop her off at home and get her things, she had to go to the store with me. Nearly fell at least three times, nearly giving me a heart attack each time. Because if she went down, I would too, and i get the feeling that would hurt like fuck.

There's no normal in the grieving process

But why the hell do I keep forgetting that I'm going to lose my father for hours at a time? I feel like I should be wallowing in it all the time, that I should be worried about my mom and about him being in pain, so now I feel guilty about it. And I feel guilty about feeling guilty about not thinking about it. Something's wrong in this picture.