Waking Up
Awake suddenly. This time it's because my brain decided to very suddenly remind me about how I have to have this conversation with my Dad about what-ifs. At the same time, the snake dream is back.
It hits me as I walk back from the bathroom that I'm the snake this time.
It slithers through my dreams, but I am just able to catch glimpses of it. I know where it started- it started this afternoon when Dad and I got home from the consultation about him getting off Eliquis and going on Warfarin because the insurance didn't want to cover the Eliquis. I was mad at Kacy, or so I thought at the time, so I did a chore that she had not been able to get to due to no fault of her own. My brain was like "Kill her with kindness." My anger was not at Kacy - it was stupid and misplaced.
I was clearing out a stack of cardboard boxes from various sources - Ikea, pizza boxes, and stuff for the casita. I wanted to get them in the construction dumpster while we still have it and I started thinking about snakes. I had been scared by one recently as it skittered from under a pile of 2x4s and headed under the dumpster. I knew they lurked around there and my Dad had recently seen one slithering across the driveway. I was worried that I was going to pick up some of the cardboard and I would find one. I have watched one too many television shows where someone moves a pile of trash or debris to find a snake lying in wait, striking suddenly. This time I'm the snake. I'm the one that is striking out. I'm the one that will ultimately inject the venom - the venom in this case being the truth.
My Dad's follow-up appointment with the cardiologist is on Thursday. One more day. I can wait one more day before I have the shitty conversation about what-ifs. I had decided to begin that conversation at the doctor's office. I wanted to let my 'tism shine and do its thing and very bluntly ask the doctor to stop blowing rainbows up my Dad's ass and just tell him the truth. Stop billing the insurance company for shit that's just going to prolong what will be the inevitable - which I'm hoping won't be painful. My anxiety won't let me wait. The anxiety is my snake - it demands attention. Strike now! Oh, what? You don't want to? Okay! So, you get to have a panic attack instead!
I honestly don't think I've had an anxiety attack this bad since I came out to my Dad about Kacy being trans. Back then, I was so scared of disappointing him. I was scared of him disappearing from our lives or being hateful towards the person that I love. I was scared that I would no longer be accepted by my family, judged because I was living a certain way, and possibly dismissed the same way that Kacy's family has ultimately done. Kacy had such a horrible experience coming out and I, perhaps naively, expected better of them. My conversation with my Dad about Kacy being trans, went in the complete opposite direction than it had with Kacy's.
While there was a lot of crying on my part, my Dad soothed me. He told me it was okay and even laughed it off, telling me that he had already been "transed" in the bathroom at the college already. He explained that he ran into a young man in the bathroom who was transitioning (FTM) and the young man had asked him if my Dad minded that he was in the bathroom. Recounting the story, he said that he chuckled saying not only did he tell the young man that he was free to live his life however he deemed fit but that he should use whichever bathroom he felt comfortable in.
My Dad continued to tell me that he loved me and by extension Kacy and that the two of us have something very special that he may not understand but that didn't matter because he did understand that we love each other very much and supported us no matter what. I think it's important to say that my Dad has not once said anything bad about Kacy and even passes on compliments regularly.
One thing, though, whenever I or Kacy try and explain why we are worried about what is going on in the world, especially here in Florida where we live, he doesn't quite understand why we are worried. He normally ends the conversation, grumpily saying something to the effect of "it's nobodies damn business but your own," He's right.
My biggest problem now is that I am faced with the very real fact that I have to break his already failing heart. My stupid, anxiety-ridden brain is telling me to rip the bandaid and just talk to him already. I need to communicate and tell him exactly what is happening to him. I have to tell him that even though I love him and would do anything that I could to help him, that his heart is just giving out and that the odds do not look good at all.
This is hard. No, scratch that - this is excrutiating. I have always been a pure optimist. I have always gone for the win-win scenario. I always have plan A, B, C, D all the way to the end of the alphabet. The whole "be prepared" motto that was drilled into my head as a kid? I already have what I call a "DOA File" with a list of things that need to be done when he does pass. I still very much want to believe that we will walk into one of these many doctor appointments and the doctor will magically say "Wha-la! You're cured! No more blood clots, no more heart failure! Your heart has regenerated and you're going to live to the ripe old age of 102, eventually dying in your sleep."
Unfortunately, we don't live in that world. Talking with the various nurses and doctors when he was having his procedure - their grim expressions when he came out, coupled with the overly animated way they interacted with him, especially when I was around... The nurse at the appointment only today [Feb13th]- the look on her face was just another in a long line of non-verbal confirmations. The odds that he survives a year are less than 35%. We've been dealing with this since August. The autistic part of my brain that deals with numbers tells me that we've been dealing with this for nearly 7 months...
I know it's only February, but everyone knows as an adult, time doesn't slow down. There is never enough time for anything. I feel like I am not making the most of the time I have left with my Dad. I think to myself that I shouldn't say anything. I don't want to be the person to tell him that his time on this world is coming to an end. I'm sure he's very aware of it. Then again, maybe he's not. Maybe he, himself, has not faced that possibility or has been ignoring that possibility because if he faces it then it becomes all too real. Facing one's own mortality? Hell, even facing one's mortality by watching their parents come to their ends, is hard enough.
Throw in some anxiety and you have a recipe for a very shitty time in your brain. This particular party? It sucks. I never wanted to come to it in the first place, even though the invitation was sent well before I was a twinkle in my Dad's eye. Logically, I can't find a reason why I have to have this conversation. Why can't I live and let live? Then I remember every single doctor that we have dealt with and how they've just blown rainbows up his rear, said this is no big deal, blah blah blah, and how my Dad thinks that a pacemaker is the be-all-end-all cure. Except for today. Today, the nurse briefly mentioned that the blockage needs to be dealt with - meaning bypass surgery first. Then, we deal with the rest.
The whole way home I was quiet. I was stewing about the stupid argument Kacy and I got into. My brain had taken one insignificant detail and blown it completely out of proportion, not realizing until much later that I was fixating on that insignificant detail and that was my way to hide from what was really bothering me.
I picked up the cardboard boxes, looking for snakes and other creepy crawlies as I went. I even went so far as to get a shovel and leaf blower thinking if I did see something I could kill it or scare it off by blowing air at it. In this case, I'm the snake. I'm the one poised to strike- to do the dirty work. I'm just as scared as that snake, too. You hear or sense something coming towards you and there's nothing you can do about it. Right now, I see that snake. I want to just let it slither away, but the more I stare at it, the more scared I become and the more I want to make my Dad who is just sitting there, look at the snake, too.
The truth of the situation is the snake's venom; it has already struck me and the snake is poised to strike again. My brain very much wants me to put myself between my Dad and that snake, taking the brunt of the attack. I don't want my Dad to be hurt, but I know that I can't stop him from being bitten. The snake, rather than the truth, will eventually get him. I guess I'm wondering maybe if I can soften the blow by getting in between.
I don't think my anxiety will let me wait until our appointment on Thursday. I have a feeling that come sunrise and when my Dad wakes up, I'll be breaking his heart. What an absolutely shitty valentines day.
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