I am weary to the bone.
After my happy happy car purchase Saturday afternoon, Saturday night came:
My f-i-l is declining rapidly. (Reminder - he was told he had prostate cancer and he has a large lump in his abdomen. They biopsied and bone scanned. Lower lymph node involvement and in his leg bones. He'll get chemo shots to halt the progression, but....) When one of my s-i-l's couldn't reach him on Saturday for a couple of hours in the evening we headed over to his house. Dave doesn't have a key (he now has one as of Sunday), but we knocked and yelled and heard him from a distance from the front door that he had fallen and couldn't get up. (Yeah, the commercial, I know! I am a bad person, but it went through my head.)
We went around to the back kitchen door and there he was, on the floor, holding on to the table leg. His skin is like tissue paper and small chunks on his arm has scraped off and he bleeds really easily and so there was blood, but around his head from trying to manuever over to the table leg to pull himself up. But from the window in the door all we saw head--->floor---->blood, so we thought the worst. I told Dave to get the kitchen window open if it was unlocked and I could climb in. Well, the window was wide enough, but not high enough. I climbed up on the little porch railing and managed to get one leg and arm and half an ass(!) through the opening. Even "folded in half" I couldn't fit without removing my backbone. His dad was alert and oriented, he was telling us he'd been there for 2 1/2 hours -Gods, an eternity when you're alone. I debated going through head first and hoping I could break my fall with my hands as there is no counter under the window. I debated going feet first, but there was nowhere to brace my hands to go through and the window was too high off of the ground for Dave to brace my back and push me through and the porch railing was too far away and too low. I manged to reach the lock with my hand, but Dave couldn't get the door open. At first we thought I just wasn't turning the lock enough. It is an old weird deadbolt that you have to hold in an unlock position while pushing the door open from outside. His dad said from the floor that you have to kick the door to get it open because it sticks so hard. I managed to twist it long enough until Dave got a good kick and a push and we were in.
Long story short, he is okay, but very weak which is why he could not get up. He is staying with one sister-in-law until Thursday while they get LifeAlert set up and lift chair in his house. (Dave stayed Saturday night with him and then there was a pow-wow of the children the next day.) He refuses any and all medical settings, wants to die, and his mind is just as sharp as ever so he cannot be forced. He wants to be at home, and die at home.
He may hang on for a few more months or he may soon take a fall he cannot recover from. He wants to commit suicide (he says often), but won't because then he will not be able to be buried next to his Catholic wife in the Catholic cemetery. He is not Catholic, but she died of cancer 31 years ago (the eternal love of his life) and couldn't live with himself (*cough*) if he couldn't be buried next to her. Which in and of itself is kind of odd because he doesn't hold to ideas of it mattering much what happens to his body after death, but it is a promise or a tie to his dead wife that he cannot/will not break and that's his choice. He fell again yesterday at the s-i-l's house, hit his head even, but not hard enough to do damage. And so it goes.
Today I learn a co-worker is in the hospital, but should be fine in a few hours to a few days. I must fill in for him tomorrow. Well, I can't work until close as I have a meeting I cannot miss at 6:30 p.m. so someone will have to work alone for 2 hours. Oh well. This Saturday I was to drive to Columbus to meet 2 people I've known for years online. Time will tell if I get to do that or if I have to work. ~sigh~
I cried all morning. After I - horrible person that I am - overslept and did it so hard I did not hear the dog going batshit crazy when my grandson was dropped off for his last summer Tuesday with me before school starts. So he had to go to work with his mom. I woke up 1/2 hour after he should have been there. I shot bolt upright in bed, threw on clothes, ran downstairs and found many missed text messages and phone calls on my cell phone. My youngest son slept through it, too. To say I felt like a shit heel is gross understatement.
Comments turned off because I know you guys love me and I love you, too, but I just cannot respond right now. Did I mention I am weary through to my bones?
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