12 December 2016

everything is related

Just now, I clicked the last little box to cancel our xmas trip to Ireland, ten days of wild seaside and windy mountains and walking and dogs and very noisy dinners, deleted. Keeping fingers crossed we may get a refund and have another go at easter. It's dark and grey outside and after seven days of antibiotics, R's CRP level is still shot through the roof. He tells me that his brain is surprisingly alert, which is why he is working online most of the day in between coughing fits and inhalation sessions.

Not to be left out of the picture, I had a weird 24 hrs episode of sudden hearing loss, a euphoric morning of recovery followed by another 24 hrs of extreme vertigo incl. all of the nasty side effects (aka seasickness related emptying of stomach and guts). Today, I am nursing what feels like a massive hangover if I want to describe it kindly. Our polite GP sent us home to rest for another week. We walked out of the surgery like the blind leading the lame, tweedle dee and tweedle dum holding hands.

There is a tiny voice inside my booming head whispering flare-up, cortisone, flare-up, unemployment, end of the world etc. So far, I am successfully shutting it out with rest and mindless distraction. But I started bribing my colleagues to send some work and We Shall See.

Meanwhile, my father escaped from hospital ("nothing but a prison") after two nights and went into hiding only to have another fall and another one and after a couple of shouting matches lengthy discussions with his three grown-up children (not sure whether he sees us that way), he has backed down somewhat and is considering various options, incl. assisted living more or less across the road from my brother.

I believe it when I see it. At night, I feel overwhelmed with sadness for him. This is what his hands looked like last summer. It's much worse now. You should see his legs. He claims it's all perfectly normal for an old man aged 88. He is so proud of his age and his independence.







10 comments:

Ms. Moon said...

When people talk about "intelligent design" I just have to shake my head in wonder.

Anonymous said...

So sorry to see that you and R are still suffering. Hope the week off helps and that you are both feeling really well soon. The photo of your dad's hands reminds me of one I took of my mom's when she had come home after a stay at the hospital. As Ms. Moon wonders about "intelligent design" I nod my head in agreement. Take care there.

Colette said...

So sorry to hear you'll miss your trip to Ireland this Christmas. I sure hope you are both better able to enjoy the holiday when it arrives.

am said...

Yes. Everything and everyone is related. Sending love to you and R. I'm struck by how delicate and small-boned your father's forearms are. Have you heard about the Redwood Grove in Ireland? Or this? http://www.karmatube.org/videos.php?id=7346

liv said...

I've always wondered - If trees and rocks (and lots of other things) get to be so strong why are human beings so fragile? Seems someone wasn't thinking the whole thing through.
I'm thinking..refund, refund, refund!

molly said...

So sorry to you had to cancel such a lovely trip. Maybe Easter will be better, health-wise for both of you and, most likely, weather-wise as my sister always says except at summer's height "it's piddling rain and bloody freezing again!" God bless your father for his independance. He has a right to be proud! His hands remind me of my F-I-L's. His skin was so fragile the least little nick tore it open. I hope you have some peace and rest at home for the holidays.

JO said...

I do hope you manage a peaceful Christmas, even if it isn't the one you hoped for. And I'm sure you've have understanding from anyone who has had to join the independence-v-care dance with an aging parent. They are hard times, and impossible to get right for everyone.

Steve Reed said...

Wow -- that's a lot going on all at once. Sorry you had to cancel your trip. Another time in the future, perhaps, when you can enjoy it more.

I know older people often struggle against going into assisted living. It doesn't seem so bad to me -- kind of a relief, maybe! But ask again when I'm ready to make the jump myself.

37paddington said...

Ah, the sadness comes at night. I am sorry you are going through so many trials right now. I will hold a good thought for them to ease, one by one by one.

Love.

Zhoen said...

Sometimes traveling is... well. You know. So sorry about the vertigo, not much worse.

Yeah, I've seen hands like that on the 80+. Glad I don't have any kids to worry over me as I age.