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It's · all · in · my · head
This is only a test
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hello! this is the obligatory public message to inform anyone who stumbles upon my journal that it's pretty much friends-only. so if you're not on my list, drop me a note and a decent bribe, preferably in the form of baked goods, and i'll let you in. |
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well man. i feel like i have no idea how many days have passed. when dad woke up, he was not the same man. irrational, hallucinating, aggressive, violent, paranoid, mean, rude, ugly. he told everyone to fuck off, pulled me close and explained to me that the entire hospital was a scam run by the christian church to hurt people, to paralyze and kill him, to make money. the drugs were bad, the food was poisoned, he was divorcing mom, none of the doctors had any education, there was a fire and kidnappings and huge coverups, he swore we were still in miami and that he could see the pool out the window, that they had decided to keep him for three years, that his respiratory therapy was making him sick, that i hadtohadtohadto bust him out, that i was his only chance at escaping certain death.
boy, to say i'm tired would be an understatement.
mom's part of the vast conspiracy, so she couldn't help if she wanted to--not that she does, not that i blame her, considering the verbal assaults that have beeen hurled at her and the wild swings she and i have been closely evading.
today we had blessed few hours when he was no longer paranoid, just hallucinating. i will take that any day. he was having a blast. but---sigh-- he fell back into it.
one should never have to plead with her father not to make her use the restraints again. that will fuck with someone.
the next surgery is tomorrow morning. mom is sleeping on my couch now so she can go tomorrow at six. i'm kind of looking forward to the free time his being in the ICU allows me, so i can go grocery shopping. i really, really need to. and do laundry.
the only thing-- i swear, it's fucking amazing-- that has kept me floating above all this has been this amazing wonderful boy-- oh my god. i skipped his conference, of which he was so, so proud, to be with dad. he came over, exhausted, and just loved on me and was an allaround fucking prince. sometimes i look at him and smile and it would seem so natural to just say "i love you" but it makes me too scared, too vulnerable. and he asks me what i'm thinking of, and it almost seems like he wants me to say it, but. but i can't, because it's Too Soon and Not Appropriate and i probably just Don't Know What The Hell I'm Talking About. i keep setting these ridiculous deadlines for myself, like... i'll wait until after a, b, and c, and if i still feel the same, i can tell him. or... wait until my situation is totally neutral, so he won't think i'm being dramatic because my dad is all fucked up.
to tell the truth, part of me wants to just freeze this whole moment in the relationship, when things are still just like goddamn-i-like-you-in-such-a-big-way-let's-make-out. i'm so happy and having such a good time, i can't deny that it's terrifying. of course i will ride it out and see what happens, but i'm holding my breath. it's like when things are frozen with liquid nitrogen. looking at it, you're so bewitched by the simultaneous softness and sharpness, the perfection and symmetry of the crystalline surface, and then you reach out to touch it and your warmth immediately shatters it into tiny shards. |
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well yes. today dad got moved to a different bed, farther from the central chaos of the ICU. it's still in the ICU, just a different little corridor. I went straight from the gym to the 1:00 visiting session, and he was tired and very cranky and kinda drunkenly telling us to go home, but whatever. then we went back at three and he was with his new (HOT) physical therapist, sitting up! he sat up for like ten minutes. then pat and liz came to visit for a bit, and it was all lovely. he even got to eat! he had a little cup of vanilla pudding, a foritified milkshake thing, and some iced tea. he's very scared about the next operation and claims that he's not going to go through with it, but i've decided to just kind of ignore him. he has to do it, and that is that. the charge nurse, sandy, has taken a liking to me and is constantly asking me what i've eaten today. and of course i had to make something up beacause i hadn't eaten anything yet! ah well, i have now. she and i talk about politics-- she loves the texas freedom network, the organization that william works for. she's on their mailing list and was very impressed when i told her that william is probably responsible for at least some of the info. she's going to the conference that william got mom and me tickets for, to see helen thomas speak! so sandy has decided i'm going to be the first female president of the united states, and she doesn't want to see any of this not-eating bullshit from me anymore. she looks straight into my eyes and i know she will kick my ass if i don't eat my wheaties. ha.
Current Mood: |
 calm | |
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breathing tube came out before we went back for the 3:00 visiting half-hour! so now i've seen him twice breathing on his own, once with my mother and once without. it's so good just to sit there and listen to him snore. he's talked a little bit... mostly he's still very sleepy, kind of saying a word or two, drifting off, saying another word, drifting off. but little by little i can tell he's retaining more... today at five when i came in alone, he gave me a big smile and told the nurse "this is my daughter." he asked for water, but we couldn't give it to him yet because the breathing tube had been removed too recently. when i left, he woke up long enough to tell me that he loved me and he seemed to understand that i would see him tomorrow. mom's going to try to come in for the 10 am shift tomorrow, which is good because i would really like to sleep. then she can do 10, 1, and 3:00 and i can do 1, 3, and 5:00. i think he may be moved tomorrow too, but i'm not sure.
all the nurses call me miss lindsay and ask if i'm feeling better. then i turn bright red, and they say it's nicer to see that color in my face that white-as-a-sheet cheeks and blue lips. the charge nurse, sandy, made it very clear that if i came in without eating breakfast again she was going to whoop my ass. good to know. |
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well. heh. my mother called at 9:20 to tell me that visiting hours were from 10:00 to 10:30, so i got up and rushed over to the hospital. i remember standing over my dad's bed, chatting at him, and feeling lightheaded. then suddenly i was slumped over the bed and there were like five nurses around me. yeah, i fainted. whoops. so they wheeled my ass on a stretcher down to the ER where i got an EKG and paid a hundred dollars for them to tell me that yes, i had sure fainted. and they made me drink powerade, and william came and got me and i went home and took a wonderful power nap on his chest. now he's back at work, i'm at home, and mom's here and we're going back to the hospital at three. then probably also at five, and i have therapy at 8:30, and then i'll probably go to william's for a bit before i come home. sigh. so silly. i was so embarrassed to pass out. oh well, i'm much better now.
dad's doing real well. from what i saw and what my mother told me, he's much more awake today, feisty. the breathing tube is still in, but will probably come out tomorrow. he keeps trying to pull it out, which is not a good idea.
that's all the news for now, stay tuned. |
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the ICU is a scary place. seeing x-rays of my dad's back full of rods and screws is a scary thing. watching his twitch and writhe, his arms strapped to the hospital bed so he won't pull out the tube inflating and deflating his lungs with constant, clicking regularity, is almost too much too bear. watching tubes run in and out of him... watching the nurse empty the blood from the receptacle, clear the saliva from his mouth, his face and body so puffy with edema...holding his hand, and him not holding back... the blood caked onto the tube in his neck... i don't even know the function of that one.
"things were going well, but he was just bleeding too much, and we had to close him up."
"we'll just wait and let him recover before we go in again."
"oh, he won't remember any of this."
"mr. wolin? can you wiggle your toes? ... well, you can try again later."
me, jauntily, "i love you very much daddy, we're so proud, you're a rock star, things will be easier now, you've done so well..."
i haven't cried. i feel like there's air inside me that can't decide whether it should be cough or a laugh or what. it feels like a big "HA" that won't come out. i feel like i'm going to throw up.
my mom left, and now william's on his way here. i hope traffic isn't bad.
i don't know what else to say. god, the twitching was the worst. his arms, straining against the restraints... the doctors wouldn't quite say whether it was just from all the medicine, or pain, or instinct to pull out the tubes, or what. i wasn't sure he could hear us until the nurse asked him to open his mouth and he did. i just kept crooning, just try to relax, daddy, we're here. when he would stop twitching for just a moment i would say that's a guy, that's right, just try to rest, everything's ok, you did great, you're doign great.
now all there is to worry about is opening him from the front, shoving his organs around, deflating a lung, putting bone grafts into the empty places in his spine. peice of cake.
the doctor remarked that i needed a belt. "my father isn't even wearing pants," i said.
oh, daddy. you never looked so small. we put hospital socks on your feet in case you could feel how cold they were. i told the nurse you tend to be chilly. |
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daddy's in surgery. mom is here, we're watching morning shows and drinking coffee. the nurse called to tell us he had gone to sleep peacefully and that they had started in on him. tonight he won't be conscious and there will be a machine breathing for him, but i might go see him anyway. just because it feels right. nothing feels real. when the nurse calls to check in, the phone won't ring any differently if he's dead. it'll be the same cheery cell-phone song, regardless. it's weird, i kind of expected it to be clinical and ominous. i smoked a cigarette in front of my mother. i don't even know what to say. when you read this, say a prayer for him, in whatever way you do that. just think nice things. here's a link about the kind of surgery he's doing: http://www.txscoli.com/pedicle_fusion.htmand http://www.txscoli.com/lumbar_laminectomy.htmand next week, http://www.txscoli.com/intervertebral_cages.htmit's actually lumbar and thoracic, but that doesn't really matter. you get the idea.
Current Mood: |
 awake | |
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the thing i miss most about living in the country is looking up at the stars. being able to see the milky way, almost solid with dusty light. being able to pick out constellations and make up new ones. so many stars, so luminous it's like a whole different kind of day. dark, yes, but emanating that particular bluish light that somehow makes everything clearer than it is when the sun doesn't give it a choice. when it's dark, the earth seems to make itself known, seducing us with dreamy sillhouettes, guiding, indicating, letting us discover what it chooses to reveal.
here, even the brightest stars are dim, and probably satellites anyway. but it's worth it for the overwhelming sensation of closeness with humanity... the knowledge that all around me, there are people laughing, crying, making love, getting older, dying. the fact that it's unfathomable is comforting. sometimes i wish we hadn't gone and ruined the mystery of the stars. i try to push it out of my head that i know what they're made of. it was far more romantic when i believed that the stars were made of crisp, cool, solid light like the kind of air that circulates around ghosts and angels.
i like to remember that the stars are always there, just like the sun is always there. the sun never sets, the world turns. |
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