Family “Bonding”

Nothing says family bonding like being crammed into a tiny hospital room for several days awaiting the fate of a family member. 

I’m kidding. It was actually pure torture.

For one… the wing we were in didn’t allow food or drinks in the room. What? What do you mean? You expect me to go out in the hall every time I want a sip of water? That’s a really funny joke. Well we followed the no food rule, but did they seriously expect us to spend all day not drinking anything in there?

Secondly… the wing we were in was housing all of the nastiest germs possible. A few patients had signs outside their doors requiring gowns and gloves before entering. I could feel my lack of immune system crying in fear every time we stepped off the elevator. 

Did I mention the whole, crammed into a tiny room with relatives you don’t particularly enjoy being around? They just want to talk. And talk. And talk about things you’re either tired of talking about or don’t want to talk about in the first place. This is why I avoid family gatherings like the plague…

But obviously the real reason it was torture was the unknown of my father’s fate. I had briefly mentioned that he was in the hospital because of heart problems. His 4th time. An arrhythmic episode that made him pass out, stopping his heart for 6 minutes. As I said, his 4th time… his heart is now functioning at 10% and he has some brain damage and memory loss. The odds were not looking favorable, but apparently it was not his time as he pulled through. Now we expected him to be changed after his brush with death.

Nope.

After a day of pleasantness, his old self returned. Disagreeing with the doctors and objecting to procedures that will extend his life. Throwing a tantrum when he doesn’t get his way. You would think that someone whose life is literally in our hands would be a little more gracious. What I don’t think he’s realizing is that for a good little while, someone is going to have to sit and stay with him, and nobody is jumping at the chance. Nobody. Not my mother. Not HIS own mother. I certainly am not jumping at the chance, I have a toddler and my own illness to deal with.

Do I feel bad about it? Not in the least bit. I said before we barely have a relationship. I did my daughterly duties and visited him everyday at the hospital. I tried to reason with him to do what the doctors said. I would have been sad if he hadn’t made it don’t get me wrong, but at this point how do you feel sorry for someone who refuses to do what they need to in order to live? I don’t enjoy taking a medicine cocktail every morning at the age of 25, but I do it because it keeps me alive.

Maybe he will come around right? I don’t think I’m going to hold my breath though.

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