
When I was a little girl I had the best Daddy in the world. He was kind and loving and would always greet my sister and I with great big bear hugs. There was nothing he wouldn't do for us, in fact he could hardly stand to tell us no. It was a good time in my life.
My Dad has never taken particularly good care of himself. When I was little he smoked a lot and he had stomach ulcers that eventually perforated and nearly killed him, landing him in the hospital for weeks. I was probably 7 or 8. It was hard to understand the gravity of the situation at that age but I remember my mother being very concerned and making sure both my sister and I gave him big hugs and kisses before he went into surgery. After that he quit smoking and his health improved quite a bit.
Later, when I was a freshman in high school, my dad got depressed and picked up an ugly drinking habit. Honestly it's a much longer more complicated story than that but we'll save that for another day
I'm not sure I've ever gotten all the details but I know we 1st realized he really had a problem when he drank too much and ended up in the hospital. While he was there they had to put a tube down his throat which some intern fucked up and tore up his esophagus. Then they wouldn't give him any pain medication for it because he was an alcoholic.
I don't really like to talk about this period of time in my life as it pertains to my relationship with my father. It was a dark time and if you've ever studied psychology in regards to family dynamics, I was very much the black-sheep/scapegoat. Our family focused not on my fathers addiction but instead on my acting out. I was the "bad kid" and if there was anything wrong with my family it was my wild and unmanageable behavior.
I remember one time my dad came home drunk and found me and a few of my friends there, hanging out. He flew into a rage and threw them and me out of the house in the middle of a snow storm. I had pneumonia at the time. Honestly, I don't think he really meant to throw me out but when he came in screaming to, "get the fuck out," I didn't stop to ask who he was referring to.
Everything came to head when I was 18 and my father's drinking got so bad that my mother moved out and my father drank so much that he actually ruptured an artery in his stomach and nearly bled out. I remember going to the hospital and saying goodbye to my father, in case he didn't make it out of surgery. The prognosis was not good. Then mom and I went to the house to clean up. There was blood everywhere...
After that my dad quit drinking and I packed a bag and hitch-hiked to Colorado with my gutter-punk boyfriend. Colorado was a learning experience, to say the least. We were homeless for a while, literally camping by a creek and squatting in old houses when we could. Then we got jobs and were in weekly motels for while before finally getting a tiny, rundown studio apartment.
My boyfriend was a lot older than me and a possessive drunk ta boot. I knew it was time to go when one night we were hanging out at the bar we both worked at and he had a few too many, grabbed me by the throat and started screaming at me in front of all of our friends. They threw him out of the bar. He was so drunk he couldn't understand why I wasn't the one being evicted as it was obviously my fault he had behaved in such a way.
About that time my mother called me to tell me that my father had been diagnosed with congestive heart failure and was very, very sick. She bought me a bus ticket and I went back to Oregon.
Dad actually did ok after that. He somewhat followed the doctors orders and his heart got stronger and stronger. But he was diagnosed with diabetes and Peripheral Neuropathy. Peripheral neuropathy is a condition causeed by diabetes that means the nerves don't work properly. There may be damage to a single nerve. It may be damage to a nerve group. It may also affect nerves in the whole body. Mostly Dad is in a lot of pain a lot of the time and the doctors have him on some pretty powerful pain killers.
After my parents house burned down last summer, my Dad's health took a turn for the worse. His congestive heart failure had returned and this time they said it wasn't going to heal on it's own. The doctors tried to get him to put in stints but my dad refused. He said that surgery killed his brother (25 years ago) and he wasn't going to do it. I tried to tell my dad that it's 2011 and the heart stint procedure now has less than a 1% fatality rate but he wouldn't listen.
Now Dad's heart has gotten even worse and the doctors want to to a tipple bypass. It sounds really scary but I've done some research and it actually has very good survival odds now. It's something in the market of a 2% fatality rate.
My Dad is in his early 70's. If he has this surgery he could live another 15-20 years or more but he's told the doctor he won't do it. When my Mother told me that my Dad had simply decided to do nothing, I could hardly believe it. It's like he's telling us he's giving up. And maybe that's ok with him but how selfish and unfair to the rest of us. Sure, he'll be dead. He won't have to worry about it but I have to watch my mother and my sister heartbroken. And knowing that there is something that he could do but is literally choosing not to. I just don't understand how he could do this to us.
I've forgiven my Dad for all the bullshit he's put us though over the years but this is just too much. I want my children to have a grandfather. I want my mom to have that beautiful 50th wedding anniversary she's always wanted. I'm just not ready to loose him and here he is, tossing in the towel. It's just not fair. Just not fair.