The daily package

I believe in getting the bad news first. 

My Dad sent me a text message, the gist being: I'm admitting I'm too sick to do all the things we planned.  I need to go home.  Sorry.  Can I meet you for breakfast tomorrow? 

I had been really hopeful maybe Dad wasn't that sick, but this is a man who waited 3 days with a gangrenous gallbladder, before he saw a doctor.  If Dad says he's sick, he is. 

I am also well aware pneumonia is a big killer of the elderly.  Dad is 74.  He also has a bad heart. Well, he has a great heart but the organ's a little iffy. 

[sigh]  NEVER the kind of thing I want to hear.  Ever. 

First, though, I had to get up at 2 AM and go to work for our soda delivery, which came an hour late.  I was glad I brought my knitting.  I worked on my project (a very simple rectangular wrap) while staring at my half-empty snack machines, wishing we could go to the warehouse and buy my inventory. 

We did, once I got the delivery. 

I got a lot of compliments on my hair.  Everyone loves it.  3 different people told me on separate occasions: "It makes you look younger".  I have never gotten that kind of positive feedback on my hair, ever.  Then I logged on here and got 3 more compliments!  (smile)

I put my knitting away (I had done about 2 feet by 2 inches in garter stitch, on a circular, with "I Love This Yarn" in the "Denims Ombre"), and we went to the warehouse.  I got all Ron's inventory, drinks, and then got my snack inventory. 

I asked him how long I needed it to last, he said about Wednesday.  I shopped accordingly. 

We left, went back to work, and I unloaded the truck.  Ron thanked me for doing the heavy physical labor.  Not a big deal. 

My hair "worked" while I was unloading.  It wasn't hot, didn't get in my way, and still looked cute.  Good.  I was a little worried how it would work with the heavy labor. 

Once we got in, Ron ran change (we have a coin sorter, we get a lot of coins so Ron runs them through the coin sorter to deposit, or go back into the changers or change banks), while I stocked. 

I finished up about half an hour before our pickup.  Understandably upset and freaked out by my Dad's news, it wasn't perfect, but it was good enough to hold us for a day or two.  All the favorites were in the coils and that's what mattered.  (I didn't do pastry, which is 5 coils in each machine.  Each machine has about 50 coils total)

By now totally exhausted, we came home and I got a nap.  I slept a little over an hour. 

I already arranged breakfast tomorrow with my Dad.  I'm not upset we will miss out on a couple of days together.  Not at all.  Health first, and if Dad feels that bad he needs to be at home in his own bed.  He loves hot tubs, and maybe a nice long soak in the hot tub every day will help. 

No, I'm not upset about that: I am worried about his health and possibly losing him.  He's not a good profile, you know. 

But, back in the 80's he was NOT the victim of a workplace shooter, because he was meeting my doctor.  I would have lost him at age 13. 

Later on, in the 90's, he nearly died of heart disease - but it was caught and treated in time.  I would have lost him at 23. 

Later on, several years ago, he blew out his gallbladder, which became gangrenous inside his body.  He was very sick for quite a while.  But God didn't take him then, either.  I was in my late 30's. 

When I think about it objectively, worst case, I "should" have lost my Dad 30 years ago.  But I didn't.  I should have lost him a couple of times since then, but I didn't. 

Personally, I came very close to death in 1988 (suicidal), and again in 2006.  In 2009 I had an allergic reaction to my antidepressant and could have died (but instead erupted in horrific hives over half my body).  I figure every day I've had since 2006 is a gift, one reason I am willing to accept some pretty raw side effects in the name of mental health.  I've seen Before, and I don't like it.  Not one bit. 

In the meantime, I will see Dad, tell him things are going well, take my pills (in front of him because they need to be taken with food), and generally display the "Very Stable" patient profile my Doctor admires.  Dad will have an easier time if he's not worried about me. 

I made a point of telling Ron I was going to lie down.  I only had about an hour and a half before the neighbors would start making noise. 

I woke up about an hour and a half later.  Ron began muttering loudly at the TV, and then yelled at it.  I think he was watching a televangelist (one reason I had such a hard time with the "evangelist" label).  I asked him to stop, he denied it, and made some very rude comments. 

"You're crazy.  Go take a pill.  Oh, that's right.  Your Dad is sick.  Well, get your [stuff] together..." 

I thought, what an asshole.  I thought, how cruel.  I thought "You will have to account for every word on judgement day and God is going to show you just what you did." 

I hate to admit, I hope my Dad doesn't die, or get sicker, because I think Ron would be horrific.  He would use it against me like he did today and be ugly and hateful, compounding my pain.  Yes, God would correct him (sooner or later), but I don't want to deal with the pain of Dad being sick/dying plus Ron's verbal abuse on top of it. 

It's interesting, I think, when something really awful happens I am "OK" for a while.  I'm not really numb, but it doesn't hit me for a while.  Then, all of a sudden, WHAP.  Then I need the handholding and the hugs and the it will be alrights. 

My last example: my mugging.  I was really fine with it for a day or so.  Then, WHAP.  A couple days later I had the shakes, the flashbacks, and a good start on PTSD. 

Well, I always have the PTSD.  With all I've had in my life I'm not surprised. 

I just wish the daily package didn't include so much pain.