Sitting Bedside

Once again, my dad is in the hospital.  He was suffering with some back and chest pain and after seeing him in the office last week, his family doc told him it was just arthritis and prescribed two Tylenol and one pain pill every four hours.

Being the addict that he is (he exchanged alcohol for ativan years ago) , he told my mother he didn’t need the Tylenol – that he would just take the pain meds.

Well, apparently he was wandering their apartment all night last night, and then this morning he told my mother he couldn’t stand the pain anymore.  He also asked her “when are all of those people going to go home?” Uh oh – since they live alone, she knew that something wasn’t right.  She called an ambulance and, long story short, he is now in the hospital and working on meeting his Medicare deductible.

They think he may have pneumonia and so the Golden Globe of Kudos goes to his family doc who diagnosed him with the words, “Your arthritis is acting up”.

We’ll be running back and forth to the hospital for the next couple of days because my mom doesn’t drive and she insists on staying at his bedside all day at the hospital.  You see, my dad is a curmudgeon and my mom is always afraid he’s going to say something nasty to a nurse and then they’ll be mean to him.

Anyhoodle, (that’s my shout out to LA),  Popeye has finally figured out that I’ve been avoiding him.  How do I know he figured this out?  Well, he emailed me this morning and wrote:

“I feel like you’re avoiding me”.

A genius that boy is – a natural-born genius.

Well, I let him have it.  Here’s a few sentences from my response…

  • “All that drama completely ruined the rest of our holidays.  Daddy and I should have just gone to work so we would have something else to talk about.  He had to start a new job worrying whether you were in jail or needed to go to rehab.”
  • “All the ugliness (SCREAMING, RANTING, RAVING, THREATS) was spewed onto us and then **POOF** we don’t hear anything else.  You guys make up or kill each other and we don’t know one way or another.  I’m always afraid I’m going to get a call from the state police one night “
  • “I can’t trust her – one minute she acts like she wants to be part of our family  – the next minute she’s telling me she is going to call the police and have you arrested.”
  • “I love you and I hate that you are in such a horrible relationship.”
  • “I fear for the health and well-being of my grandchildren.”

My dear friends, I am no longer looking at his relationship with rose-colored glasses.  I know my son has some issues that he needs to deal with…but I’m taking a page out of Caroline Manzo’s book when I say “”Let me tell you something about my family, we’re as thick as thieves. And we protect each other to the end.”

I’ve tried to “make nice” with the Sea Hag, but I know I will NEVER consider her my family – I don’t care how many of my grandchildren she bears.

While putting the Christmas decorations away on Saturday, I  decided to throw away my children’s’ Jenny Lynd baby crib.

LA had talked about hers in a recent post and as soon as I walked into our storage area I spotted it,  abandoned in the corner under a layer of dust  I read recently that cribs with drop down sides have been banned due to safety reasons.  How could this crib that my three babies slept in (the last one until he was four years old), be unsafe?  Are they really talking about the crib that I laid next to on those long nights while listening to the hiss of the vaporizer, or waiting to hear the whimper that indicated someone was about to get sick?

Could they possibly mean the  same crib that my babies wrapped their pudgy little hands around to help them stand up for the first time?  Or the crib that my two-year old peeked into to say hi to her new baby brother ?

The crib is outside now at the curb – abandoned and waiting for the trash truck – in the snow…and on that note, my friends, I think I’m just going to let myself have a good cry.


About JJ

“"Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.'” William Butler Yeats
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Sitting Bedside

  1. *Hugs* I’m sorry you have been dealing with so much frustration but glad you told Popeye what was wrong. Here’s hoping he still has the presence of mind to make changes that are so crucial. Take it from someone who was married to an addict. If he doesn’t clean up his act his children will be very young on the front pew at his funeral. I have the photos to prove it.

  2. catsoul says:

    All right than, you have reached the acceptance of truth now. It is so hard. I understand. I hope that your husband is getting there too. Oh Joan, I so feel for you right now. Sometimes you just cry, and then you laugh because you wonder why the hell it took so long to get there. So have a chai tea and smile, things to get better. Take care. =^..^=

  3. LA says:

    You go have that cry, my friend. It helps. Hugging you across the icy miles. ~LA

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s