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Mar. 21st, 2011 11:41 pmFriday morning I was woken up with a call from Mom. Dad was being rushed to the hospital wracked with terrible seizures. Recently his leg started going numb. We all thought it had to do with his back, due to complications he had as a kid with his spine. Even the doctors estimated it was most likely a pinched nerve. Thursday night though the numbness climbed to his arm. By the time I got the call the next morning, mom & I both figured it might have been a stroke. Later that afternoon we both learned it was something much worse. An earlier MRI he had on Wednesday revealed a considerable brain tumor in the left hemisphere of his brain. When I visited him at his bed, dad gave us the news straight up. The prognosis wasn't good. The odds are that he has three to six months to live. Since there was nothing that could be done immediately, we got him out of there and back to my parent's place. Though not paralyzed, his left arm and leg are 90% immobile and I've spent the last few days here trying to help the folks anyway I can.
I've been running on numb since, dangling from the verge of tears and trying to process the enormity of what's actually happening. What's worse is there are these brief moments, when I'm watching TV or cleaning or walking around, where I actually forget for a few seconds what's happening to him and then I'll suddenly remember and the weight of it jabs deep into me and it feels as bad as it did when I first heard the news. Sometimes though I just rage up and find myself snapping at fools at the convenience store or threatening to pummel idiots that cut mom off when we're driving. Then this ache will flare up and suddenly I just feel empty.
I feel so drained right now. The adrenalin rush of the shock has worn off and all I just want to do is curl into someone right now and vanish, even if only for a night...
... but that's not a luxury I have right now. All I can do is channel my energies into making what may or may not be his last few months here as comfortable as possible.
For now there's a slim chance that the tumor is benign, that maybe they can operate and all this has been a very scary wake up call about how we've taken each other's presence for granted. We'll find out soon enough I suppose. We go in to talk to his neurologist on Wednesday and next week he has a biopsy scheduled. In the meantime I'm doing my best to help dad with his freelance job as a copy writer. Fill in the blanks, help the family pull in another check, try to keep the ball rolling a little further down the field. Whatever little I can do for them.
Meantime, I need a woman, a bottle and a night that I won't remember because what my Folks need right now is a miracle and I'm fresh out of those.
Anyway, writing this more for me than you. I was hoping I could bury it here in these words and let them take this burden even only for a night. Exhausted, physically, no matter how much I sleep or how much coffee I drink. Crashing out here soon. A bowl, a podcast and then sleep. Long day tomorrow and a longer one immediately after that.
I've been running on numb since, dangling from the verge of tears and trying to process the enormity of what's actually happening. What's worse is there are these brief moments, when I'm watching TV or cleaning or walking around, where I actually forget for a few seconds what's happening to him and then I'll suddenly remember and the weight of it jabs deep into me and it feels as bad as it did when I first heard the news. Sometimes though I just rage up and find myself snapping at fools at the convenience store or threatening to pummel idiots that cut mom off when we're driving. Then this ache will flare up and suddenly I just feel empty.
I feel so drained right now. The adrenalin rush of the shock has worn off and all I just want to do is curl into someone right now and vanish, even if only for a night...
... but that's not a luxury I have right now. All I can do is channel my energies into making what may or may not be his last few months here as comfortable as possible.
For now there's a slim chance that the tumor is benign, that maybe they can operate and all this has been a very scary wake up call about how we've taken each other's presence for granted. We'll find out soon enough I suppose. We go in to talk to his neurologist on Wednesday and next week he has a biopsy scheduled. In the meantime I'm doing my best to help dad with his freelance job as a copy writer. Fill in the blanks, help the family pull in another check, try to keep the ball rolling a little further down the field. Whatever little I can do for them.
Meantime, I need a woman, a bottle and a night that I won't remember because what my Folks need right now is a miracle and I'm fresh out of those.
Anyway, writing this more for me than you. I was hoping I could bury it here in these words and let them take this burden even only for a night. Exhausted, physically, no matter how much I sleep or how much coffee I drink. Crashing out here soon. A bowl, a podcast and then sleep. Long day tomorrow and a longer one immediately after that.