So I haven't been using this journal much at all, despite the best of intentions to get back to it. I've been using it mostly for private list-making and note-keeping, but even that has been pretty lackluster. But I've made some major changes to my diet that I feel I oughtta share. Not really sure why. Just in case someone else happens to find it interesting or helpful.
It's behind a cut since I know these things can be triggering (or just plain boring) for many people.
Even though I'm not sure I would call myself a fan of Whitney Houston, I did enjoy her 80s hits and I'm about as familiar with her overall career as anyone else is who watches t.v. at all. So yes, I was pretty shocked and disappointed to hear of her sudden death.
And I'm sure there's a certain crowd who will think this is inappropriate, but whatever. Mom and I were watching, of all things, a Charlie Brown Valentine's special when suddenly there was this Breaking News alert. We braced ourselves, thinking that there was some disaster somewhere. The lead-in was so abrupt and serious that we both were expecting to hear about a devastating earthquake, or a major political assassination, or perhaps not something catastrophic but sufficiently important to grab viewers' attention.
The death of Whitney Houston was none of those things. It certainly didn't warrant the we-have-something-horrific-to-report-sit-up-and-pay-attention!!!!!!!!!!!! alert that had the two of us on the edge of our seat expecting some kind of environmental or political disaster.
Ten a.m. tomorrow morning (approximately) will mark a full week since Dad's death.
Aunt Cheryl and her family--including her ex, which may sound stranger to the rest of the world than it does to us--all drove out on Thursday and Friday, and Aunt Lynn's husband and boy went out on Thursday as well. Lynn will be flying back out on Sunday. But I changed my ticket so that I'll be staying until the 19th of next month. Hopefully that will be enough time to get my mother into a routine.
On the one hand it seems too long, but on the other too short. I've a feeling that would be the case whether I flew out in three days or waited three months. I do know that if it were just me, and Mom wasn't in the picture, I'd have been on the first plane back to Montana within five minutes of Dad's burial. Mom told me that it hurts being here, but she still seems to be deriving some comfort from being in the house. Good for her, and I'm doing my level best not to project my emotional issues onto her, but I just don't feel the same. The sheer presence of Dad's absence is too overwhelming.
Lynn, Grandmama, Mom, and I are going to see Dad's attorney in a couple hours, and then we'll be meeting with Dad's oncologist to see if we could possibly get some questions answered as to what, exactly, went so badly wrong when Dad first seemed to be doing so well.
A friend of my aunt's who was helping us to put together a memorial collage used these CraftBond Glue Spots, thinking they were removeable. Unfortunately, as I have since learned, the fuckers are meant to be permanent.
A lot of the photos are recent creations of which we have two or more digital copies, on my computer, my aunt's, and that of my cousin who took them in the first place. Obviously it doesn't matter so much if these pictures get damaged. But the rest of the photos are anywhere from five to fifty years old, and are absolutely irreplaceable.
Please, please, please tell me there is a way to get these goddamn glue spots off our photos without damaging the photos themselves.
Dad goes in for surgery tomorrow morning. My aunt is as nervous about it as I am, so she's coming up tomorrow to spend the day together while we worry ourselves sick.
Lots has been going on, especially at work. Most of it nervewracking, and for than a few LULZ I really ought to share. Unfortunately, I don't have much time right now, and oh, look! we're about to get more snow! Because eight inches clearly wasn't enough!
Gonna go pump some more caffeine into my bloodstream, then get busy with housework and some errands I gotta run before the weather gets even worse. Yay.
My poor Dad has appointments every day this week, to get his heart, brain, and lungs checked out, monitor his diabetes, and what-have-you. He seems to be under the impression that if everything checks out, they'll be scheduling him for surgery within a week or two. That strikes me as a bit optimistic, but I honestly don't have a clue how these things work, so...
I do know that the PET scan results showed that the cancer was limited to the spot on his lung and showed no sign of being spread anywhere else. The spot is, if I remember right, three centimeters in diameter. I guess that's considered pretty small?
Dad's pretty cynical about the test to make sure he'll have adequate lung capacity after they cut off a piece, saying "they have to cut it off anyway, so what's the point?" This is the part that worries me. The man's about 150 pounds overweight and can't walk from one end of the house to the other without getting winded. He's got several other significant health problems, of course, most of them stemming from diabetes complications, though, so I'm more worried overall about just the prospect of him having to undergo surgery at all.
He had to be taken off Plavix a few weeks ago because of the sinus infection that wouldn't die. He's been on Plavix for five or six years, I guess, for his heart. Several months ago he started taking another medication that has blood thinning properties, so the decision was made that he could go off the Plavix for awhile, until he got the throat infection healed up. Of course, now he has to stay off the Plavix until further notice because of the impending surgery. That's great, and I understand the point, here, but meanwhile, what the fuck about his heart???
For himself, Dad seems to be doing okay, mentally. He's frustrated over being several weeks off work and feels that pressure building up, and he's getting impatient to go ahead and get the surgery over with and radiation therapy begun, if needed, but as far as having cancer itself, he's taking that in stride as a fact of life. I wish I could share his acceptance.