I’m unhappy. I don’t think that’s a surprise to anyone who’s been reading my entries for the past few weeks. I’m holding my breath and hoping that my parents will be able to fly out on Saturday, which is five days including today (Tuesday). I’m not very good at the end of things in general. All my impatience surges and it’s really hard for me to tamp it down. It doesn’t help that there’s some question as to whether my father can fly on Saturday or not. He seems much better today, but that varies day to day. Honestly, my impulse is just to pour Dramamine down his throat and shove him on the plane. That’s not very nice, I know, but I have found a darker side of me in the past few months that was previously slumbering in my breast.
When I woke up from being unconscious, I was ready to fight everyone and anyone. I as so grateful, however, for being alive. My brother explained to me that I was supposed to be dead a few days after I awoke so I knew how lucky I was to be alive. And I was properly grateful to my medical team for keeping me alive. My brother said I was overly nice to the nurses because I profusely thanked them for the ice water. But it was because I was obsessed with the ice water and insisted on a fresh cup every time someone came into the room. It didn’t matter how many cups I had in front of me–I always wanted one more. Which was bothersome to them, obviously.
Before I woke up, the doctors warned that I was in for several months of rehab, if not years. There was talk of me going to a rehab facility before going home. They were unsure what kind of brain/heart damage I was going to have. The angiogram showed no weaknesses in my heart, thankfully. That was done the week I was awake in the hospital. That was the only ‘surgery’ I had (and it was just a slit to put in a stent in my arm). And I’ve seen both the heart and head doc since I’ve left the hospital. Both have given me the clean bill of health. All my labs are good and all my tests have been passed with flying colors. I have one more EEG and heart doctor visit and then, that’s the end of my trauma-related appointments. After that, I’m a free person who can resume ignoring my health!
I’m kidding, of course. Sort of. I was not very good at taking care of my health before I landed in the hospital. Which means I need to change some things. The biggest thing is that I need a new primary doctor. The one I met once during the pandemic for the first time, I was not impressed with her at all. I did like the one I met after leaving the hospital to talk about things as related to the trauma. I just have to make it official that he is my primary doctor. Since it’s not yet official, the female doctor messaged me a month or so after I got home from the hospital saying she was sorry to hear about my recent hospitalization. She added that hopefully it made me quit smoking and if not, she was more than happy to help with that. Which, I know it’s her job, but it was very tone-deaf. I was put off by it and my friends agreed that it was not the right time.
Right now, I don’t need the aggro. Quite honestly, I’m not here for unsolicited advice, even from a doctor. Maybe especially from a doctor. She and I did hit it off when we met because she suggested a medication for bipolar disorder to deal with my depression because it was one of the few meds that didn’t cause weight gain. I don’t have bipolar disorder, but that didn’t matter to her as much as me not gaining weight mattered. That made me want to switch immediately, but then the hospital happened. She was my default primary caregiver, but she wasn’t available when I needed to be seen after leaving the hospital.
I am back to normal, whatever that means, except for maybe a 10% hit to my stamina. That’s slowly coming back and I’m working diligently every day. I’ve said before that I wish there was some kind of physical marker that I went through hell. I have scars on my arms from all the needle pricks, but they could be mistaken for freckles or moles. Other than that, I have the slightest of trembles in my middle left finger, but I can deal with it with no problems. My Taiji teacher gave me a suggestion (lowering my shoulder, which is her suggestion for many problems and does often work) that really helped with this problem.
Other than that, there is nothing physical that shows I went through something traumatic. My parents flew here ostensibly to take care of me, but I’ve done more taking care of them–specifically my father. Lifting heavy things, opening tricky bottle caps, and taking back all the cat-related chores. There is nothing I need to be helped with and it’s been that way for the past few weeks. I’m just waiting for them to go home. I think I’ll do much better without them around. Again, especially my father. I’ve had to waste so much energy in trying to anticipate his needs and moods–and having my mother scolding me for not doing enough is the icing on the shit cake. Just because she’s bought into his miserable fantasy life doesn’t mean I have to as well.
I made a concession which I’m not sure I should have made. it’s pretty clear that this will be the last time my father can fly here to visit. He shouldn’t have come this time (because of his health), but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, while my brother was here, he, my mother, and I talked about us going to Taiwan next year rather than them coming here. For Christmas because that’s when my nephews can have enough time away from school. Also, there’s still a pandemic and we need at least a year to see where we’re at with the newest variants before making the commitment. The last time I went, I vowed never to go again because I felt forced into going. It’s different this time. I feel like I can stand up for myself better than before. I can say, no, I’m not doing twenty things in one day. Yes, I’m going to the museum for the whole day, no matter if anyone else wants to go with me. I’ll have to watch what I eat because I now have restrictions, but I’m used to dealing with that.
I feel I’m better able to deal with it now. I wasn’t five or ten years ago, whenever it was that I last went. But this is on my terms. I’m going to do it the way I want to do it. I’m not going to exhaust myself or allow myself to be dragged to things that I can’t or don’t want to do. I’m not looking forward to it other than the food, but I’m not dreading it the way I did the last time.
Honestly, though, I’m just ready to be on my own. My recovery is coming along nicely, but I realized that I could be doing even better if it were not for my father. There’s a heavy weight in my heart with him around and while it’s not always pressing down on me, it’s hard to know when it will happen.
I think once I’m on my own, I’ll be able to let that go. I can focus more on me without having one eye out for him. He takes up so much space even when he’s not in the room. I try to not talk about him with my mother, but that’s impossible. She will drag the conversation back to my father, come hell or high water. She has mentioned that he knows if her mind isn’t on him, but so the fuck what? But he’s trained her to be thinking of her all the time. She has even said that he’s jealous of me and my brother. Anything that takes her attention away from him. I made it quite frank to her that her unwavering devotion to him has damaged her relationship with me. She nodded her head in resignation. She knew it was true and it was an acceptable tradeoff for her, albeit a painful one.
I am eager to see how my life will be once I’m back on my own again. I have a hunch it isn’t going to be that much different, but we’ll have to see. Hopefully.