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thepointofthestory · 5 years

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Pressure Release Valve

I’m starting this blog as a way to release some of the pressure I’m experiencing. A journal to help me process what’s going on and deal with it. I process verbally a lot, which is good, but I can’t afford a therapist right now so I’ve been leaning heavily on friends - and they’re amazing for listening to me, but, I just keep going over the same shit again and again and they have to be getting tired of me. I can’t vent on Facebook anymore - because that’s just so fraught. Anonymous venting onto Tumblr seems like it’s worth trying. So, here we go - first real post. This is some background about one of the topics that’s got me deeply wound.

My father is an elderly man. He is 71 years old with Type 2 Diabetes, Severely Reduced Kidney Function, and Moderate to Severe Sleep Apnea.

A Quick Medical Overview about 15 years ago my dad was in a long term relationship with a woman and was living in her home. During that period he was diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes and, because he snores to wake the fucking devil, she made him do a sleep study and he was diagnosed with Moderate to Severe Sleep Apnea and given a CPAP machine. About 4 years ago my father’s kidney’s failed. He had a UTI and went in for a contrast dye test for some other issue, and, the combination of those things plus my dad’s unchecked Type 2 Diabeties (and very high blood sugar levels) made his kidney’s throw up their hands and go “Fuck it, we’re done!”

He spent THREE FULL WEEKS in the hospital. At first trying different treatments to see if they could “reboot” my dad’s Kidneys, then, after a day or two doing Dyalisis and getting his bloodwork stabalized. Three full weeks. And he nearly died.

He was released to Hospice/Rehab care where they assessed his abilities and capabilities. They recomended a walker. Set up on-going out-patient Dyalisis treatments. Literally helped him get back on his feet. The Rehab center was wonderful and recomended that he move to a facility with nursing staff. Not that he go into a “Home” or Hospice care, just... a place with medical staff on hand. Someone to help him manage his diet and medications. He refused. Because he’s a grown man, see.

THREE days later he called me at 2 am hysterical. Utterly freaking out. At the time I had a 5 month old baby and I was awake when he called because I was nursing my son. But also I lived an hour and a half away from him and could not understand what he was saying or what was going on. I was sleep deprived. I hung up on him. My sister ended up calling an ambulance to check on him, which was good, because his blood sugar had crashed out so low he was having a delustional episode.

He went back to the hospital. He got stabalized again and relased to go home within 48 hours, but, with the caveat that he take a Diabetes 2 education class. I agreed to go with him to the classes - which were at a location close to his house. So I drove an hour and a half to pick him up, sat through an hour of class, drove him home, made him fucking dinner and then drove an hour and a half back home with breasts that were, at that point, painfully full of milk - because there was no possible time to pump in that whole mess of activity.

The course was 5 classes long, after the 4th class we got into an argument about how he couldn’t just eat McDonalds all the time anymore. Because the class had focused on how fast food was an especially bad choice to make for Diabetics who have other health issues. The teacher had specifically pulled up the nutritional information for a BASIC McDonalds Hamburger and talked about all the reasons why it was bad for blood sugar, even though - yes, there was a high protein count, there were all these added sugars. Our argument began by me basically saying “Now that someone else has said it, will you please stop doing this?” The argument ended when he OPENED THE PASSENGER DOOR OF THE CAR WHILE IT WAS IN MOTION AND THREATENED TO THROW HIMSELF OUT.

I had to pull the car over, get out, shove him back into the car (as he wasn’t able to right himself) while he hit me in the shoulders and threw a tantrum like a toddler about how all the women in his life have ever done is screw him over. I didn’t go to the 5th class. I’m not sure if he did. And I didn’t talk to him or deal with him for months.

During those months my sisters (both younger) discovered that he was so deeply in debt that he was going have all his utilities shut off and to be evicted from his apartment if he was late on another payment. So, they took over his finances. Like, litterally took them over. My youngest sister (who we’ll call Teri) is his Trustee for his social security payments, and, all his money goes into an account that she has access too but that he does not. My middle sister (Who we’ll call Beth) now manages the day to day bill paying and distribution of the account, including putting money weekly onto a pre-paid debit card that my dad has access too for shopping and miscelaneous expenses.

About six or nine months passed and things had evened out a little. My father was coming out to see my son on a fairly regular basis. I was ignoring him to the best of my ability. Working. Raising my son. Ignoring. And then I got a call, while I was at work, from my father. He needed to go to the ER, he said. To schedule a surgery apointment. Huh? He had a wound on his big toe that wouldn’t heal. This happens with Type 2 Diabetics, so it wasn’t a surprise. I was already aware of the wound and that he was seeing doctors about it. He had assured me that he was taking care of the wound and he was having apointments reguarly to have it dressed and assessed, so, I hadn’t done any digging into it. Apparently his doctor had recomended surgery and told him that he should go to the ER in the morning and get scheduled for a surgery apointment... which doesn’t make any sense at all. That’s ... not how that works?

So, I took a break at work and called Kaiser. I spoke to someone who read me the visitation notes from the doctor. Basically, the doctor had come to the conclusion that the tissue was damaged enough that it needed to be abraded and recomended that my father be transported to the hospital and admitted and scheduled for surgery that night. My dad, who was STILL paying off the ambulance bills from his last two hospital stays refused to go. He said he’d drive himself in the morning. His doctor recomended against that and suggested that, if he didn’t want to be transported via ambulance he could get a family member to pick him up. He refused. The doctor made a note in the after visit information that this course of action could result in serious issues up to and including DEATH and that my father was refusing/leaving the office against medical advice.

So.... I got a friend who drives Uber to pick my dad up at his apartment and take him to the closest ER. I met them there. There is a whole story associated with this pick up and my friend had to get his car detailed afterwards. Whee.

When I got to the ER they had my dad laid out in a hospital gown and had done some initial blood testing and my dad was waiting in a curtianed area. His blood sugar was all out of whack. He had an infection in his toe that threatened to spread to his blood - and if you don’t know, blood poisoning is fucking deadly. They were running fluids and antibiotics via IV. The toe was necrotic. Unsaveable. They needed to remove it ASAP. It was a good thing I had gotten him in tonight, the doctor told me. If he had waited until morning he might have fallen asleep and never woken up.

They ended up removing his big toe from the first knuckle to the tip, and wrapping it up. He went back to Hospice/Rehab and spent another 3 weeks learning how to use a cane to help him walk. He was instructed to use the cane all the time, but especially while he was recovering from surgery. He never used it, still doesn’t.

Another six months pass. It’s December now his toe has never healed from surgery. Refusing to use the cane has put too much pressure on the toe and it won’t heal. Being diabetic makes it important that he keep it clean and dry, but, he continues to stand up to pee ... and misses the toilet regularly. So... he’s peeing on his open wound and not changing the bandage or cleaning the wound.

And, so, there’s a need for a second surgery. This time they take the whole toe. And it’s back to rehab. Again. Where he ends up pushing for release early - and ends up getting authorized to go home on Christmas Eve. This time he promises he’ll use his cane. He does not.

It’s been two years now without any catastropic injuries or events. He’s mostly stabalized but his kidney function is in the 24% range (which is a failing grade on any test I can think of) but means that he doesn’t require regular Dyalisis. His Diabetes is under control only with the help of medication, and his A1C is generally in the 6-7 range, which is boarderline and if it gets any worse will not be able to control it with the meds he’s on. He’ll have to do insulin injections - this is an ineveitablity. But he doesn’t test his blood sugar.

He continues to ignore the dietary recomendations for both his Diabetic and Renal conditions. He refuses to use his cane. My father comes out to my house on Tuesdays to spend time with my son. Mostly he naps in the chair in the living room and we feed him dinner, so at least he’s getting one good meal a week. But, recenly, over the last three months he’s been falling more. He shows up to my place with new visible scrapes and bruises every week. He always wears slacks and a button up shirt, sometimes with a sweater. So, the visible bruising is on his wrists, hands, and face. In addition to that he *falls down* in front of me once every two weeks or so. These falls are not little falls. He trips, looses his balance and just CRUMPLES into a heap on the floor. Usually face first. Often he doesn’t even have time to put his hands out to slow his fall.

Recently, I suggested we move his recliner so that it was out of the walk-way into his living room. I have noticed that he often bumps into it or starts to stumble when walking through the narrow walk-way to get into his living room, because it’s in the way. I suggested we move it to the other side of the coffee table, about 2 feet to the right. And then, before he could protest, I said that if that meant he was too close to the TV, that we could then swap where his desk and TV sit, which would clear his desk chair out from in front of the entrance to the kitchen - removing another hazard.

Keep in mind: I DO THIS FOR A LIVING. I am a personal organizer and I help reorganize and reorder people’s spaces for better work-life flow. I am not simply making random suggestions. I’ve thought about this for a while, and, it was a soft suggestion, not an order or an edict.

But he flipped the fuck out on me. He dug deep into the past to pull out some horrible bullshit he *did do me* as a kid and tried to weaponize it like it was shit I did to him. It was dramatastic and awful, and, in hindsight probably an indication that his blood sugar is way off. Because he was super irrational and kept saying he was shaking.

I just get to sucked into his fucking tantrums and bullshit, because of a life-long dynamic of screaming fights and hysteria on his part. I try. I really do. But I never recognize the possible low/high bloodsugar behavior until after the fact.

#bitching #venting #parents #diabetic #diabetes #kidney failure #renal #diet #cane #falling #falling hazard #tripping hazard #over reaction #over reacting #frustration #medical drama #death and dying

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