I put a goofy title to this blog, because if I don't keep my sense of
humor, I'll be in a padded room, stat. I've reached the age,
prematurely, I believe, that I'm dealing with the imminent process of
putting my father in a nursing home. Do I want to do this? No. Is it the
best thing for his care? Yes...but that doesn't make it any easier. Not
even one little bit.
If I could, I would let him live with me and Smitty, but that might
(WOULD) end badly. Besides the fact that he would be trying to smoke a
pack of cigarettes in our house every day, I honestly don't know how to
take care of him either. I've checked his blood sugar before, and while
I can do it every once in a while, the sight of blood and I are not
close chums. So, I recognize that he needs full-time, licensed care, but
it doesn't make the thought of it any easier.
I'm a Daddy's girl; I won't even pretend not to be. We have many good
and many not so good traits in common. I'm the child who loves movies,
TV, and anything to do with English and poetry. I'm also the child who
won't listen to what you say, no matter how logical, I like to sleep,
and I can lean a little toward the lazy side. Also, we have the same
tiny veins, which I why I hope against hope I don't get diabetes with
his degree of kidney failure because I will literally be in the same
boat. I have to go through it every time I have blood taken. I'm like
"Just use my left arm; trust me," and it's like they're determined to
prove me wrong...but I'm always right. That's the only arm you can get
blood, and it's only in one little place. Lots of fun..
Since he had his leg amputated, I keep having these dreams about his
using his prosthesis and us being at the beach, etc...and all this stuff
we used to do when I was little. He used to carry me to bed when I fell
asleep on the couch, and he'd throw me in the water at the swimming
pool. I guess my subconscious wants to believe he'll get better and do
the stuff he used to do...but the reality part of me knows if he
couldn't walk me down the aisle before he even had his leg amputated,
it's pretty likely he'll never do that kind of stuff again. And that's
hard -- really, really hard to digest. It's a weird feeling when you
start taking care of your parents. It upsets the natural order of
things. Also, it makes me feel old. And that's not good for anyone...
He and I were talking yesterday about my sister turning 40 next year,
and I said I couldn't believe that, and he said, and you'll be right
behind her...well, not really, not for another six years, but I guess I
see his point, that time moves quickly. And I wondered if he'd be around
when I turned 40, as he'd be 80 (!#?!), and I really hope so.
So, I'm really not trying to be depressing, I'm trying to be Zen Emily
and just accept things as they are and cleave to good memories and when
things seem too hard to handle, visit those memories for some comfort
and peace of mind. I was very lucky in some aspects to have the family I
have, and I'll leave to think what you want about the "some" in this
sentence. However, in the immortal words of Popeye, "I am what I am"
because of them.
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