By the Numbers

When I was a kid and my Dad and I would take roadtrips together, we would sit down at the kitchen counter with the atlas and map out the route we would take to our destination.  The journey would begin right there, staring at the full map of the US, deciding which way we were going to go.  We would then go to the individual state maps, following the highways, looking for things along the way that we might want to stop and see.  

I love road trips with my Dad.  I have been wanting to do one more road trip with him but I don't think we're going to have the chance. When I started driving, he gifted me my own atlas.  At the age of 16, I was driving from northern Indiana to western Kentucky (usually with a friend) heading down to visit my Dad on school breaks.  I would break out the atlas and plot my route to various destinations, doing research on different places that I may want to stop.  

One particular weekend took me from Madisonville, KY to West Lafayette, IN, to Indianapolis, to Terre Haute, back to Madisonville, to St. Louis, back to West Lafayette, Indianapolis and finally home to Madisonville.  We went to a concert in Indy, Six Flags, and put about a thousand miles on my Plymouth hatchback.  I don't think my Dad was too amused, but that atlas.... it got a workout.  It's one of my fondest memories.  

I love having a roadmap. I love knowing how to get from point A to B.  Even now with GPS I will still look at the map and see what the best route for my purposes are.  Figuring out which direction I want to go rings true for how I run my life too.  I would write down on a sheet of paper the route I wanted to take.  I write lists of things that I need to do every day to feel accomplished.  Deviation for that list, that map of my daily routine, throws me for a loop.  Sure, there are some days that those deviations can lead to some fun and distraction, but for the most part it usually ends up with me overstimulated and upset that I didn't accomplish my mission.  

I am currently looking at the roadmap that is my Dad's health.  This map has only one destination.  I see the data, I see which way it's pointing, and I see the choices we have to make.  Do we go one way and attempt to kick the can down the road for another few years. 

There is an 87% chance that my Dad would survive the surgery.  This is if no other complications arise. There is the complication, however, that he has progressed to stage 3B of kidney disease based on his creatine level and other labs that were done last week.  Currently, his heart is working at 30% capacity.  The TL;DR version looks like this:  There is a roughly 7% chance my Dad will live for another 3 years.  There is roughly a 34% chance he will live for a year.  I spoke with a hospice nurse this afternoon (because I'm planning on having THAT conversation with my Dad when I'm not feeling so chicken shit) and she said that if she were the cardiologist along with what she has seen in her experience, she wouldn't recommend getting the surgery done.  She would keep him comfortable and let him do whatever the hell he wants to do until he can't.  

My mind paints a pretty picture where my Dad spends the day on his tractor, plowing the back field, smiling in the sunshine, coming in after working, taking a shower, plopping down on the couch and simply drifting off to sleep while watching one of his favorite tv shows and never waking up.   

Realistically, I know my Dad can't even climb up on his tractor let alone plow the field.  Realistically, I know just walking to the bathroom wears him out.  Realistically, I know that he doesn't even have the mental capacity to be able to send even the most basic email. 

Inside I'm falling apart but outside I have to keep a smile on my face for him because if he sees that I'm upset he gets upset.  If he gets upset, it's all I can do not to start crying myself.  I just don't feel like I can show him that side.  I feel like I have to be brave.  I feel like I can't show him how torn up I am.  I feel like my m.o. is currently like that of an ostrich, sticking my head in the sand to avoid oncoming danger. 

All the while also feeling incredibly guilty for wanting some form of normalcy and wishing for this all to be done.  I know the minute it's all done I'm going to be wishing for more.  

Why don't we talk about this? Why don't we discuss this with our family? Why don't we express that fear? Why is that so hard to do? Is it a generational trauma thing?  If we talk about it maybe we'll realize that what we do on the daily doesn't matter - maybe we'll realize that we should enjoy the time we have. Maybe we'll realize that the day to day is stupid and we should concentrate on what makes us happy?  Maybe we realize that having the latest pink stanley cup or whatever crazy fad isn't what's important - that our family and spending time with the people that we love is important.   

I don't know...  I think I'm just pissed at the cards that are currently in my hand and I desperately want to change them out.  The odds aren't in my favor for a happy outcome.  I think I just want to flip the table over, scatter the chips, and then burn it all down.  Can I do that?