Daddy is Coming Home

Christmas has come and gone. It's sad that it couldn't last. For the first time in a long time we had some real joy, some real happiness. Daddy was home for Christmas between trips the hospital. We had a big family breakfast, did our stockings (an event in itself, see previous posting [eeek, currently down for editing]), and traded gifts. We prepared our special Turducken dinner and were settling in for a relaxing evening with family and friends.

It was almost normal.

Ughh. That's not fair, I admit it, as it makes it sound like Dad's illness(es) were somehow extraordinary and new to this world. They were life changing for us, but I can acknowledge that we are a small portion of the population who have had to deal with this scenario.

But I digress.


As we were settling in, Daddy was rushed back to the hospital.

It's apparent that this is becoming too much for him. He is so tired, in so much pain. He is, almost literally, half the man he used to be. He is 64 years old and looks like he is 80+. He hates that his kids have to help him move, eat, and clean up. He hates being any kind of a burden to his family and, while we would never see it that way, he was also so proud of being the provider; the role shift is too great for him.

The doctor called this morning to let us know that they had done everything they could. They could prolong his life with dialysis, but the rest was pain and symptom management, nothing more. He would never improve. She was kind, and patient, and just clinical enough to make her point: He made it clear that he did not want artificial life... and dialysis is just that for him. It is keeping him alive enough to live his days in pain - both physical and emotional - but he doesn't really have a life. He is almost completely blind, he can barely eat, he sleeps most of the day away and rests fitfully at night. His memory and cognitive functions are compromised. He is unhappy like this. He is sick and tired of being sick and tired.

We had a family meeting after we talked to the doctor about hospice. My older brother joined us via speakerphone, and the rest of us sat at the kitchen table my Dad sat at as a child. We cried, we actually laughed, we weighed the options and realized we really only had two: prolong the pain, or release him from it.

Mom and Sis and I went to breakfast. Older Bro talked to his family. Little Bro went to work. All of us and none of us wanted to go and tell Daddy what the doctor said.

When we did get to the hospital, the hospice representative was waiting for us. The doctor called her and told her we were coming. She wanted Daddy to be with his family when she explained the doc's position. When she did come in and introduce herself, Daddy was quiet for a few moments and then stopped her mid-sentence. "So you are saying I can choose to just go home? I can be done?" She nodded.

That was all he needed. He said, with an emphatic point of his finger, that it was exactly what he wanted; he was done fighting.

He was released from the hospital for the last time today. He is home.

And he is going to die.

Facing Mortality

It's been three months and a few days since my Daddy had his second open-heart surgery.

We knew there were risks and we knew that there were no guarantees.

Now we know that we - that he - tried every option available.

And now we know that there is nothing else to be done.

So... Screech has a sex tape?

So.... Screech has a sex tape.

And what's really, really icky about it, aside from the obvious unattractiveness and unsexy persona exuded by Screech Powers, ne Dustin Diamond, is this: it was made and is being released in a pathetic attempt "resurrect the acting career that collapsed when "Saved By the Bell" ended in 1997."

No one found it. He didn't accidentally return it to Blockbuster in the case meant for his favorite Olsen Twins movie. He can claim he didn't know of it all he wants...

... but seriously, like we don't know it's a marketing ploy? His agent is hoping he can get bookings off of it! The fact that it comes on the heels of an attempt to sell autographs to save his home from foreclosure just tells me that this guy is grasping at straws.

In all this I realize that I am giving him another 15 seconds of fame by recognizing this horse-puckey, but seriously.. can you really see him making a new career from giving Zach or Slater a "Dirty Sanchez?"

While Dustin Diamond has yet to confirm the existence of a sex tape set to explode into the public eye, Screech ain't exactly denying it either.

The actor took to the radio airwaves to set the record straight about his role in the alleged tape, telling the top-rated Tampa based MJ Morning Show, "It's very possible that tape exists."

Diamond says he has yet to feast his eyes on the tape in question, but says it wouldn't shock him if it's authentic. "I've had a lot of fun with video in the past."

When the nurse asks if you want a chaplain...

... you find yourself talking to God even if you weren't sure of your beliefs before that moment.

My father had his surgery today. It was supposed to take six hours or so. About halfway through, the head nurse came to ask us if we wanted a chaplain.

Never have I wanted God to exist more than that moment.

"They" say that the third stage of grief is negotiation/bargaining. It's appropriate as we speak of my father, a union negotiator and area director for decades. Bargaining and negotiations were his specialty. Like my hopes for someone or something with whom/which to negotiate, at that moment I hoped my Dad's teachings stuck in my head.

I was begging, pleading, making deals, and offering my own physical strength; I was willing, and still am, to take illness upon myself if it meant that he would recover.

Every moment is a new hope. Every moment is a new fear.

"Kegels, Yoga, and Ceiling Fans"

Just.... don't.... ask.

Another convo with Charlie Watson.

[22:34] Musing: ceiling fans suck ass
[22:34] Pedro Sanchez: you're using it wrong :-D
[22:34] Musing: I am just trying to change the bulbs
[22:35] Pedro Sanchez: yeah, you're definitely doing it wrong, then
[22:37] Musing: =(
[22:37] Musing: The little fuckers won't come out
[22:38] Pedro Sanchez: How sturdy is it?
[22:38] Musing: It's like the damn bulbs are glued inside
[22:38] Pedro Sanchez: how sturdy is the ceiling fan?
[22:39] Musing: Not very
[22:39] Musing: Standard
[22:40] Musing: It's a nicer one, but it's not sturdy enough to really rough it up
[22:40] Pedro Sanchez: ok, this is what you do
[22:40] Pedro Sanchez: Get some duct tape
[22:40] Pedro Sanchez: and a ladder

Mirror (a poem)

A journey inward,

radiating outward,

spiraling upward as I fall into awareness.

Sitting in the darkness,

my eyes reflecting bright in an otherwise black and glassy mirror.

All the trials and triumphs of my life,

the bricks of my personal temple, a standing testament to who I am and what I am,

tower over everything,

threatening to both celebrate and come crashing down around me.

My eyes becoming the mirror,

black and glassy, barely containing an icy flame and a restless soul.

All at once tempted by control

and bound by chaos.

Independence Day

An interesting term, Independence. Defined by dictionary.com as

"n 1: freedom from control or influence of another or others [syn: independency]"

the term basically says we are free to do as we please; no one else can tell us what to do or how to do it.

I am working on an essay for this section on this very topic. I am curious, however, as to how you would define independence. Is it a concept, an abstract, a feeling, a desire, a right, a privilege? Is it automatic? Earned? Given? Deserved? Can you choose to throw it away? Abandon it?

Why is it important? Martyred? Scorned?

Independent thought, independent action.

Think about it.

I am.

Not Ready to Make Nice

My birthday is in a month! (Just sayin'.)

I was introduced to this song by my Dad today. Anyone who knows me or knows of some of what I have gone through recently will understand how much this song means to me right now... especially the past few weeks. He was determined I see it, sing along for him, and take it in. It made me cry and cheer at the same time.

Enjoy, I did....

Saying too much or not enough

In light of my father's illness, my Nana's failing health, my divorce, my decision to find a "day job," and a few other things in my life.... I started musing last night about what we say to people, what our encounters are like, and whether or not we're saying enough or saying too much.

It's more than the overused, "Did I tell them I loved them enough?" lament. Sure, that's an appropriate thought, but there's so much more I wonder about. It's not just about telling someone that I love them but sharing why I love(d) them. What did they inspire me to do? What sorts of passion for my life did they incite within me? Why am I better for knowing them? What about me is so much greater for having them in my life when I did?

Similarly, I wonder if I have ever said too much. Did they need to know, during their time of trouble, that certain events were or were not happening? Did I overthink things or not think enough before speaking? Was I a help or a hindrance? Did I feel one way and they felt another? Did I cross the line or not go far enough?

I have some specifics over which I am debating to write, but I thought I would lay out the rambling thoughts for now.

Anyway, thanks for listening.

On Leadership

Last week I had the opportunity to listen to Colin Powell speak to a conference being held at Mandalay Bay. His topic was leadership; it was moving and perception-altering for many who had a true interest in what he said. One thing in particular stood out for me. We've all heard the adage about chains being only as strong as their weakest link and we've also heard that you cannot lead by what you say but by what you do. Those are true and always will be, in my humble judgement, but I took a special interest in how he focused on the rest of the equation, the rest of the team.

He said that true leadership is based on your followers; leadership is measured by the quality and dedication of your followers, your battalion, your team. A true leader will know they've done something right when his or her followers go along with plans or follow a path "out of sheer curiousity more than the mission itself;" it's a sign of trust that they are willing to start where they need to start and go where s/he does in order to ascertain what they need to do, together.

While teams are generally given an important focus in any situation, his monologue was inspiring and served as a good reminder that it takes all kinds to achieve success.

Where am I going with this? Hear me out...

My father is dying. A conversation on, of all things, hope.

Two nights ago I was talking to one of my dearest friends on the phone. Charlie Watson (not his real name) and I are occasionally virtual drinking buddies; he lives in New Jersey and I live in Las Vegas, we grab some wine or vodka or tequila, we choose a topic, and we talk while we drink.

The subject of my father's health was broached (as it often is of late) and I found myself in one of the most heart-wrenching conversations I have ever been in. I explained to Charlie more about Dad's congestive heart failure, his heart attack and bypass, and the hole they found in his heart and the new decision to replace a valve.

The latter was more like a suggestion instead of a decision; my father's personal choice is to forgo another open-heart surgery in the face of recovery times and quality of life issues. He has wondered aloud if the six months or so he might get would be better served spending time with his family in his awkward state of mobility and clarity rather than an even weaker state than before; another surgery would mean a longer and harder recovery... it's exponential in a patient with his history and he doesn't want to experience a deeper state of weakness, of loss.