(no subject)

[felicula]

It was a last minute decision on Saturday morning. I wanted to keep my mom company and to visit with my dad in the hospital. Saturday, we arrived while my mom was visiting Buffalo General. We spent time with her, and got to hang out with keepersrosered, amberrattus, ninepointsatyr, and other friends. We crashed a LARP at UB, took a peek at Club Diablo, and talked for hours at keepersrosered's and amberrattus's house. Saturday night was precisely what I needed to prepare me for Sunday.

mechanchaos took Aidan sledding while my mom and I went to Buffalo General at about 1:30.

My dad looked terrible. There's no way around it. His yellow hue has deepened. His arms, legs, and face look gaunt. His abdomen is distended. He has bruising from the places where they've taken blood. His elbows and back show signs of abrasion from the sheets. His skin is waxy and loose. He is barely eating anything. He vomits liquid periodically. He has diarrhea when he goes to the bathroom. He gets confused. His voice is hoarse and muffled.

They need to drain the liquid from his abdomen, but his blood is too thin. They're giving him vitamin K in hopes his blood will thicken enough so they can relieve the pressure. He says others who've had this have drained up to 7 liters of fluid. I'd believe it. He thinks the earliest they might be able to try to drain it will be Tuesday.

They're trying to stimulate his bowels to try to get rid of the ammonia building up in his system. He's on IV fluids.

He needed both my help and my mom's in order to roll onto his side. He's weak and uncomfortable. No position alleviates the discomfort.

He's lonely and going nuts from the hospital routine. Seeing him lying there was like going to visit his mother in St. John's nursing home. He said that if he pulls through he's never touching alcohol again. Granted, he said that to my mom when he was in the hospital last year for his ulcers. He's got the same doc this time, who said he was very disappointed to see my dad back there.

To be honest, I can't force myself into optimism. Even if this is hepatitis of some form, the liver damage is and will be there. If this is cirrhosis, well, he likely won't get better. Sadly, I could see him struggling on in this limbo of discomfort and inability to find relief for months, wasting away. If that doesn't happen, I will celebrate and be grateful.

For now, I am glad I made the trip. I know I was able to be fully present for him there today. I could pay attention. I looked, unflinching, into his eyes. I faced the reality of the straits he is in like I faced my detailed imagination of my impending surgery. I emptied and rinsed the cup he vomited in. I helped him turn. I moved things closer to him as would be helpful. I cracked jokes in hopes of making him smile. (It didn't work.) I told him that I care about him. I told him that not one of us is perfect and that I love him as he is. I told him that no matter what, he's my dad. I told him that I love him. I gave him hugs and held his shaking hand.

In my heart I know that at this point neither the doctors, nor my mother, nor I have any control over what comes next. I need to let go and let what will happen, happen. If the worst happens, I want to be there for my mom in every way. If he gets better but struggles with the liver damage, I want to let him know that he's cared about. As much as I would like an answer, a definition, or a roadmap of where this is going to go, there isn't one.

I asked my mom to give me updates when she knows them, even if it's at 3am in the morning. The days are simultaneously moving in slow motion and the speed of light.

I would like to thank each and every one of you who has offered support, insight, experience, a kind word, something to lift my spirits, or helped in any other way. I appreciate you. Even if I don't know you well, I appreciate you. I will keep you posted.

Comments

[blackfelicula.livejournal.com]

Thank you very much, but I think that you likely have it inside of you as well.