It pours. The man pictured above is one of a few people who can be credited with raising me to be the woman I am today. He is my grandpa, and even though he had his faults, he was there for me and my mom when we needed him the most. He helped my mom and I out of a dangerous situation when I was very young and then helped support us until my mom could get on her own two feet again. If not for him and my grandma, I wouldn’t be here today, I can guarantee it.
And I’ll more than likely never see him alive again. The last time I saw him he was lying in a hospital bed hooked up to more tubes and machines than I can even begin to count. His heart is failing, and considering its been functioning with just one working artery for the last 7 years, it’s a miracle he made it this far. And even if they were able to repair his heart, he has lung cancer for the third time, and his spine is so twisted that he’ll be completely paralyzed from the waist down in six months if they don’t do surgery to fix it, which they won’t do unless his heart is strong enough, which it most definitely is not.
So now we wait. He’s signed a DNR and has made it clear he doesn’t want to die in a hospital, so all we can do is wait for either his heart to fail or the cancer to take him. He’ll be 86 in 10 days, and I’ve made him promise that I’ll see him on father’s day this year. The really cruel part of this all? It’s entirely possible his heart will hold out long enough for him to die of lung cancer, which I wouldn’t wish on my worst fucking enemy. I’ve had to watch my once indestructable grandpa become weaker and weaker, to the point that he can’t even walk anymore and is reliant on my grandmother to feed him because his arms aren’t strong enough to lift a spoon with food on it to his mouth.
My HCG has finally gone down to zero, so now begins the rather long process of figuring out why I keep miscarrying, which will involve more needles and tests and god knows what else. And in the mean time, I have to refrain from the one thing that could take my mind off everything that is wrong with my life, at least for a little while. It’s about to be a very long summer.
I’ve started running, I’m doing the couch to 5k program. I need a distraction, and focusing on one of the few things I do have control over has helped tremendously. I’m trying to stay away from taking my bipolar and anxiety medication, but I don’t know how long that is going to last. Once we start trying to have a baby I’m going to need to go off it again, so it’s not like I’ll be able to take it for very long anyways. And frankly, I don’t like who I become when I’m on it, so I’d rather not take it if I can avoid it.
I’m just done. If it’s not one thing, it’s another, and this whole year has just been one heartbreak or struggle after another. I feel like I’m barely treading water, and I just feel like there is a giant storm headed my way. I can’t explain it, but I just have this overwhelming sense of foreboding that the first half of this year was nothing compared to what the rest of the year has in store for me, and I just don’t know how I’m going to get through everything.
I know people die all the time, and my grandpa has had a good, long life. I’m incredibly thankful that he has lived this long, I know not everyone is that lucky. I’ve lost enough young people close to me to know he is one of the lucky ones. It doesn’t make this suck any less. He has always been my rock, the one person I can count on to keep me up when the whole world seems to be crashing down around me. And pretty soon, I’m not going to have that anymore. And I hate watching him go from the grandpa I could always count on, to the man who can’t lift a spoon, let alone anything else. I was young enough when my grandma died that I didn’t realize just how much pain she was in, and my aunt died so quickly that I never even saw her in pain.
But I watched what happened when my uncle was diagnosed with cancer. He was either so high on morphine that he didn’t recognize us, or he was in so much pain that he couldn’t give us a hug without crying. He ended up dying by choking on the blood that was filling his lungs. His last moments were spent in terror, after a terrifying and painful fight against a disease he didn’t stand a chance of beating. And now my grandpa, the one person who doesn’t deserve that kind of pain, is dying of the exact same fucking disease. Part of me wishes his mind would go first so that he doesn’t realize how much pain he is in, but the selfish part of me couldn’t handle him not recognizing me when I come to visit. I realize how incredibly selfish that makes me.
Sorry for the brain dump, I just needed to get this off my chest.