Sometimes Being Homebound and Isolated is Really Hard

Considering what has gone on with three people who have been very important in my life this year (they died), I have to know that I’m very fortunate.  Two had battles with horrible cancers between 9 and 10 months long, and one had a sudden collapse with an aortic dissection, but lived two more days…. she had been over a few weeks earlier talking about limited time. Maybe she know something was up, or was just being realistic that at 89 years old, she wanted to get things in order.   We had a really nice visit that I’m so thankful for.  The one who had the 9 month battle with colon cancer is a cousin I had a lot of  phone and e-mail contact with during her horrific struggle.  The other was my dad’s lady friend from church;she and  his first cousin (with the aortic dissection) had services last week.  I wasn’t able to go to either, but did at least meet the lady friend’s family, who I’d heard about for years, and felt a need to pay respects to them; we’d all heard about each other for years. I couldn’t stay long, but at least I popped in after the service for a few minutes.  I will miss them especially during the holidays, but also in general, as they were either family, or just about, as she and dad were buddies for church dinners, going out with friends, etc.

Overall, I really do realize how fortunate I am, but I don’t have many perky days when all is sunny and wonderful. There are some times when I just get overwhelmed when I think about what I used to be like.  Other days, I do my best to get by, and I do still have a lot that I enjoy from home. I still get to help out family and friends with medical  questions/translations- and I’m very glad to do that.  It helps me feel useful in some way.  And I get rather nostalgic about the days when I was working 3 12-hour shifts a week as a charge nurse in some sort of facility (hospital, drug/alcohol rehab, adolescent psych), or the Monday-Friday desk jobs entering assessment data into the computer for Medicare reimbursement and/or care planning for skilled nursing facilities.  I also did some stints on neuro floors, head injury rehab, and pediatrics- so a greatly varied career that I miss.  A great thing about nursing, especially in Central, rural Texas between 1985 – 2002, is that when I’d get bored with something, I had no problem finding another job within days.  Sometimes the offers were waiting for me on my answering machine when I got home from the interview.  Being an ADN, and not having a 4-year degree was never an issue, either as a staff nurse, charge nurse, weekend supervisor (only RN in the building/facility), or department head.  I was lucky to graduate from nursing school in 1985 when we were expected to know how to do procedures and skills, or we didn’t graduate.

Then came disability in 2004.  I fought through 8 years (starting in Texas) of trying different medications to regulate the fainting and weird episodes where I turn beet red, then a bluish red, before becoming pale and cold like a corpse. For eight years, I muddled through, and even had several decent years after the neurologist down there wanted to try an off-label medication.  By the time I was told I was no longer OK to work (by my boss in IL in 2004), it crushed me.  My identity had always been as an RN.  I didn’t have a husband or kids, so no other roles.  My relationships were all with co-workers in Texas ( even though I’d moved back to Illinois, where I was basically thrown away- nobody returned calls, and one former coworker went out of her way to avoid me at the grocery store).  I’d gotten sick- I hadn’t embezzled anything !  I guess it’s a Yankee thing. :/

That started some very chaotic years of figuring out what meds would help with the worsening symptoms (fainting more often, with some injuries including a concussion, and torn meniscus on my right knee requiring a knee replacement, some very strange medication interactions that caused a small stroke, many blood clots in my right lung, and ultimately leukemia (AML, subtype 3, or APL) which required chemo that worsened the autonomic disorder with thigh atrophy and increased sensitivity to heat).  I was a ‘regular’ at one of the ERs early on, and they treated me like trash.  Had I not gone to a decent ER with the blood clots in my lungs, I likely would have died – they were numerous in all three lobes of my right lung and pulmonary artery, and in various acute, subacute, and chronic stages.  The apex of my heart had pressure against it from my lung pushing into it.  It was bad. I only went to the hospital because I thought I was having a heart attack.

I’ve been essentially homebound for ten years.  I’m not sure that many people really understand what that means when “friends” here (coworkers) disappeared as soon as I left the parking lot on my last day.  I do have my dad, and a couple of friends here- one in particular makes an effort to come over periodically, and has done a LOT of work helping me get things organized so that I can get “stuff” minimized around here. She has been incredibly helpful once we found each other again on FB a few years ago.  I have been invited to family holiday parties- which I can attend one of, after everyone eats, since hot food in close proximity to body heat of other people is a problem- so I go when I’m less likely to stick out as being totally weird.  I really like that family bunch, and I hope I don’t come across as not liking them.  I just can’t tolerate a room over 66 degrees.

There are days when I don’t hear another human voice other than my dad (who is 82 and healthy, so I’m very thankful for that). We try to do daily “attendance” checks with each other, and he is really a huge asset in my life for many reasons… he always has my back.  I know he will never give me bad advice.   I might not see another human more than once a week (again, dad) for a few weeks at a time.  The phone rarely rings… usually it’s dad, my birth mom, or a reminder for  a doctors’ appointment or test (this week it’s an abdominal/pelvic CT for some intense bloating likely related to the autonomic problem).  Facebook is my primary form of contact, and I’m incredibly grateful for that; prior to getting this laptop from my birth mom and cousin, I was even more alone… now I can at least keep up with people I’ve known for years, whether from work, family, or childhood.   I challenge anyone to unplug the phone, have nobody show up at their door, and not hear another live voice in person for days (and occasionally weeks) at a time. It takes getting used to- and even now, it’s still hard.

I miss seeing co-workers and patients.  I miss being able to just go out and do something social without having to deal with the logistics of cooling vest equipment, distance from home, how I’m going to get there, can I leave if I need to, etc.  There are no ‘going out to lunch’ days (who would I go with?).  My dad is the one I go places with on the days when I can go (and I know I’m the most undependable ‘date’ with frequent last minute cancellations because of symptoms of some sort).  He knows that when my cheeks turn a deep bluish-red that it’s time to go.  And he’s always willing to take me anywhere.

People don’t understand that I can’t unload the dishwasher and fold laundry in the same day, or I end up with spasms from the base of my skull to my lower back, and am useless for a day or two.  Chronic pain isn’t ‘seen’.  Fibromyalgia and degenerative disc disease are chronic and  the DDD, will get worse (degenerative is a clue)- so I pace what I do as much as possible.  I miss the days when I’d set my mind to doing something around my apartment, and not stop until it was done.  That’s long gone.  I ‘look OK’, so I’m not sure people understand that I really am doing the best I can.  I live independently (getting many things delivered to my apartment from Schwan’s- frozen foods, Amazon, and Walmart).  I go to the store about once a month… maybe twice if it’s a good week about halfway between disability checks.   I still want to do as much as I can myself, so I don’t lose any more muscle mass.  The initial chemo took up about 20 pounds of muscle, and then the neuropathy in my thighs took much more – while I gained weight on chemo (not easy for my head to deal with, or to get rid of the poundage).

I’ve written about the expenses of Medicare and medications not covered in other posts. Buying insulin from a part D plan guarantees that anyone on it will go into the dreaded ‘donut hole’ where meds are NOT covered by the Medicare drug plans.  Most diabetics are on several medications.  The donut hole is dangerous.   The ‘good’ insulin is upwards of $200 per vial….between the two types of insulin I use , if I got it from the part D company, that would be $600 a month just for that- minimum… Thank God for the  cheap stuff from Walmart; I’d be sunk without it.  I don’t understand why insulin (the better stuff ) – a drug that is absolutely necessary for many diabetics- is so  unattainable.   I worry about this sort of stuff…

But mostly, I miss the things that I used to take for granted… seeing coworkers, having daily contact with other humans, having a purpose that felt like ‘me’ (being an RN), and not having to plan for every contingency every time I leave the apartment, even if it’s only for an hour.   My short term memory and word-finding are still not back to normal after chemo.   Going to the store for fresh produce every week has been long gone.  I might figure out something with dad, to go with him a couple of times  a week to get fresh fruit and veggies.

I really do have a LOT to be thankful for.  I have survived a lot.  During my 55 year old cousin’s final weeks, she weakly asked why I was allowed to live and she wasn’t- not in a nasty way, but in a tone that just sounded like she was trying to make sense of things.   I don’t know.  I know I must have some reason to still be here.  I hope I can make a difference somehow.  The blog helps… I keep track of my stats, and more than 100 countries have hit more than 16, 000 times.  At least people know I’m still here… that and Facebook. And my dad and a couple of people I see every month or two.  That they take time out of their busy lives (and they are busy !!) means a lot.

I’ve got God, my dad, my birth mom, folks on FB, and my dog- who is my main companion and pretty good at it 🙂   So, even though I miss what my life was, I’m at least alive, and still able to live alone, and figure out how to get things I need.   I truly am thankful for that. I know that there are others out there who struggle a lot more.  I remember those people I used to take care of that were never going to live on their own again.  I don’t know where the dysautonomia, diabetes, degenerative disc disease, degenerative  joint disease, or lung scars from the clots are going to lead me… but I’m sure I’ll figure it out.  I always seem to land on my feet 😉

Turning 50… and Already On Medicare For Six Years

I turned 50 years old today.  I can’t figure out where the time went !  I certainly don’t feel ‘old’, and think that 50 is the new 30, even with the physical limitations I’ve had for years.  I’ve never been one to get all depressed or stressed by ‘big’ birthdays- 21, 30, 40…. but I’m not so sure I like this one.  I started falling apart physically quite a while ago.  It makes me a bit nervous that things could slide downhill more quickly now.  😦   Mortality gets much more real.

I’ve heard (and said) that a lot of how old someone ‘really’ is depends a lot on how old they feel mentally, and how old they ‘think’.  My head still feels like I’m in my late 20s.  My body has felt older than dirt since the mid-90s, before I turned 40.  But I don’t ‘think’ old.  I’ve had to deal with chronic health issues and Medicare since my early 40s (and it takes TWO YEARS after being approved for Social Security Disability before Medicare is an option- medically disabled, with no medical care for 2 years). The list of medical issues still hasn’t changed how old I ‘think’.  I have started thinking more about how I’ll manage if my body falls ‘more’ apart.  But my mental outlook is still pretty youngish.

My dad and I went out for lunch the other day (I rarely go out to eat because of the thermostats at most restaurants being set too high for me to be able to stay conscious, even with the ice vest).  I was really excited, as we went to a favorite Swedish restaurant that I’ve been quite fond of since I was a kid.  I mentioned to the waitress that it was the first stop in my 50th birthday celebration, and she was surprised that I was going to be 50… said I looked MUCH younger (quite nice of her).  I don’t have any wrinkles, and my hair is kept short on purpose to avoid being overheated, so the gray at my temples isn’t all that noticeable (though it is definitely there !).  That felt good- at least I don’t look ‘older’.

I’ve already gone through several life-threatening events/diseases (6-hour rape and beating when I was 23, leukemia and 19 months of chemo at 46, etc, blood clots in my right lung – all three lobes and right pulmonary artery), and have chronic illnesses that have required life adjustments or are disabling: diabetes at 31, dysautonomia diagnosed at age 32, epilepsy diagnosed at age 22, degenerative joint disease at 43, chronic pain/fibromyalgia at 32, chronic headaches since I was in high school, osteoarthritis at age 43,  degenerative disc disease at 43, yadda, yadda, yadda.  I’ve been disabled since early 2004. The chemo for the leukemia has made several of the pre-cancer disorders worse.  It sometimes gets a bit scary to think that I could become more of a train wreck with ‘normal’ aging.  I’ve recently been diagnosed with neuropathy in my legs (they’re literally losing muscle mass that is now visible).  They have been getting progressively weaker for a couple of years- since/during the chemo.  If I don’t have a shopping cart at the grocery store, I can’t  get through the building on my own.  Standing in line means increasing leg pain, and feeling like they’re turning to jello in terms of strength.

I’ve been on Medicare since I was nearly 44.  Though I’d dealt with Medicare as a nurse before becoming disabled, being ON Medicare is a totally different kind of circus.

Medicare costs a LOT to have.  People get the idea that it’s a free government program.  That is wrong.  First, working people pay into Medicare every paycheck in the form of Medicare taxes. For some people, it does cost to get Medicare part A  ($441/month in 2013) if specific situations apply. Those who paid into ‘the system’ while working don’t have to pay a part A premium.  Part A pays for a large portion of hospitalization charges  and rehab in a skilled nursing facility, home health care,  hospice, and inpatient care in a religious non medical health care institution.  If someone is admitted to a  hospital for ‘observation’, that doesn’t count as a hospital ‘admission’, so the charges come out of pocket !  In either case, Medicare doesn’t cover %100 of the costs.

Then there is a part B premium (around $110 per month), and covers outpatient doctor visits, various health screenings, ambulance charges, ambulatory surgical centers, diabetes education and blood sugar testing supplies, some chiropractor services, durable medical equipment (like walkers, wheelchairs, prosthetic items), emergency department visits, flu shots, and several other services- generally at %80 coverage.  That leaves %20 to be covered by the patient.  That can add up quickly.

The part D (prescription drug plan, or PDP) can cost a varying amounts. Because of my cancer history and extensive medication list, I get the highest level of benefit plan I can- so about $80/month.  It really pays to shop around.  One of my chemo drugs for the leukemia (that had no alternate option) was about $10,000 per MONTH.  With the PDP I had at the time, my co-pay was over $450 per month.  I’m on many, many other medications including insulin which doesn’t have a generic option.  When the social worker at the oncologist’s office helped me find a different PDP company, all generics- including that $10K drug- had a $0 copay when ordered through the mail-order pharmacy. But I couldn’t change to the new plan until open enrollment that begins in October… I left the hospital in May. Fortunately, a pharmacy agreed to help me after the Lymphoma and Leukemia Society agreed to help (which they later reneged on).  That pharmacy ended up ‘eating’ the cost, as I had no way to pay for it.

Part C refers to Medicare advantage plans. They’re great if you never get sick and have no chronic health issues.  Medicare contracts with private insurance companies to deal with the paperwork.  They are often very reasonable in terms of premiums, and often include the PDPs.  I’ve been on advantage plans, and while they look great on paper, with a 6 week hospital stay for the beginning of the leukemia treatment, the copays added up in a hurry.  I’m still paying off one hospital bill, 3 1/2 years later.  The cost for that inpatient stay was over $300K.  The plan paid a LOT.  But it still left a lot of out of pocket expenses… nobody plans on having something bad happening.   I can’t emphasize enough how important it is to plan for the worst and hope for the best.  I’ve had to file bankruptcy in the past (before the leukemia)  because of medical bills.  No credit card shopping sprees, no trips to wonderful places…. ‘just’ medical bills.  Getting extra disability insurance is also a huge help when it’s needed.  I have always insured myself to the hilt when I was working, and until my last job, never needed it.  But it’s literally keeping me living on my own at this point; disability from Social Security isn’t enough to live on with medical expenses.

Then there is the Medicare supplement plan (or Medigap) to cover the costs Medicare doesn’t pay for.  The first few days of any inpatient hospitalization generally cost the patient at least $200 per day (and there may be a several thousand dollar deductible).  There are also portions of physician charges, lab/x-ray/test costs, pharmacy costs, etc.  The supplement helps pay some or all of those charges, depending on what  level of  benefits someone decides to get in a supplement.  I go all out with my supplement plan (Plan F- all companies have the same coverage for each level of supplement insurance, so it comes down to premium cost and deductibles). I have NO co-pays for any inpatient or outpatient medical situation.  That will cost $325/month this coming year (2014)…and my insulin is about $50/month (not including syringes/supplies).  The MONTHLY total to be on Medicare (for me) is over $515.  On disability income. But, I know that I’m not going to have ‘extra’ medical costs.  That’s a sort of peace of mind that really doesn’t have a price tag.

Plan as if you will someday lose your job for medical reasons (and pray you won’t !).  If the time comes (and nobody ever knows if a car wreck, disease, or other medical problem will creep up on them), you will NOT regret having paid the premiums for all of those years.  And shop around with Medicare supplements and drug plans.  It makes a huge difference as well.

The Beginning of Aging. I Think.

It may have started a while back, but I wasn’t paying attention.  I know that the battle with gravity started precisely on my 40th birthday.  My boobs began sleeping under my armpits, and my chins started fighting for real estate on my neck.  It’s not pretty.  I have managed to avoid wrinkles, which is good- but I have this visual of waking up one morning and looking like a shar pei that got stuck in a bag of prunes.  I’m hoping to make it the next 13 months until I turn 50 without too much drama.  I’m just getting used to the stuff that has already started.  There should be a manual.  “The Idiots Guide to Aging”…..something.

My ability to read without glasses is long gone, and now I fuddle around with trying to be sure I don’t jump to a higher level of magnification of reading glasses too soon, thus making my eyes older or something.  I just want to be able to read the microfilm print in the phone book, and get through the grocery store knowing what I’m buying.  It would be sad to get bath oil to make salad dressing.  When I get desperate, I wear two pairs of glasses at the same time, especially for the phone book. I say it’s a conspiracy to make us all just stop calling people or places. Apple is probably trying to get us all to rely on Siri. That bothers me.  I don’t want to talk to inanimate objects at my age.  I could get put away in some place with ‘Shady’ or ‘Acres’ in its name.  I’m too young for AARP, but I’m plenty old enough for the nuthouse.

Sneezing and coughing hard have become interesting attempts to keep all ‘spraying’ contained to a tissue, but I’m finding that there are other parts that also spray mildly when agitated.  I’ve tried Kegel’s, but nada. They can’t help one of those allergy sneezes designed to clear pollen from the last three years. Nope. I can still sneeze a ‘normal’ sneeze without needing hipwaders, but I’m wondering if those days are numbered.

Something I am enjoying about getting older is not having to worry about the mean girls.  Nobody cares if I go to the grocery store in lavender shorts and a green shirt.  I try to ‘match’, but if I’m getting close to laundry day, and choices are limited, I don’t lose sleep over it. If it’s clean, it ‘matches’.  Nobody cares if my car is 14 years old.  Or if my tennis shoes are from K-mart circa 2002.  It’s all a non-issue.  And that is nice.  I never really cared anyway, but it’s nice not to have any petty condescension to avoid.  Bah.

My memory is pretty good. I can describe the floor plan of the place I lived when I was 2 years old.  Don’t ask me what I did this morning.  I’ve also got the added bonus of chemobrain from 19 months of chemotherapy for leukemia.  They say that can make a person fuzzy for a while.  I’m kind of fuzzy. That is probably the correct term. I’m not demented yet, and I’m pretty sharp in most areas of my life, but there are cobwebs.

I got to shave my head and not worry about what people think of it.  I don’t have to look at it, and it’s helpful for my weird heat intolerance (and I haven’t hit menopause yet).  I’m going to see a surgeon about some cysts on my scalp, and don’t want to look like I have mange, so had the cosmetologist mow it down. One of the other cosmetologists was sweeping the fallen hair; he looked at me and said “Girl, we could make a fur coat out of this”…. precisely the problem. It’s hot.  I may never let my hair grow back.  I’m old enough that nobody cares.

I’ll be glad when I’m through menopause, but I haven’t even started yet.  I’ve already got a major problem with heat. Hot flashes could be a bit dicey.  I’ve served my time riding the cotton pony.  I’m tired of Aunt Flow visiting.

I’ve debated how to deal with chin and lip hairs. Pluck, shave, or rip off with goo that sticks to the surrounding skin as well.  Right now, I can get away with plucking, provided I check on things with the right strength of reading glasses. I had one hair on my inner arm hit an inch long before I even knew it was there.  That’s a little embarrassing when I think about how long it might have been waving in the breeze before I tweezed it to death.

Overall, I’m surviving getting older. Senescence.  The process we’ll all face.  It’s interesting at times, and since I spent years working as a nursing home RN, I know what could be coming.  I’m lucky. Physically,  I’m already a train wreck on a good day, but so far, I can’t say that getting older is making life anything but better, at least mentally. The ‘little’ things really don’t matter. The big things are more appreciated. The ‘medium’ things are a sign that I’m still moving along.  Aging isn’t for sissies, but I think I’ll be OK.  🙂

80 Years Young…. My Dad

Tomorrow, my dad will be 80 years old. He’s playfully denying it.  And, he can get away with denying it since he looks so good and still runs around like a maniac.   He spent many years taking care of my mom as she declined from dementia, and since her death, has finally been able to retire; she was work (though he loved her enough to stay with her through anything and everything).  He is healthy, has friends, and can do pretty much what he wants to do. He’s blessed, and he spent years working to have a nice retirement.

My dad was the first born child of immigrants from Sweden.  His father came from Borgholm, Öland, Sweden, and his mother came from Nordmaling, near Umeå, Sweden.  They arrived in separate boats, and had very different experiences on their journeys.  Grandpa thought everything was a party, and enjoyed the whole trip.  Grandma and several of her thirteen siblings were miserable, and once they got to Ellis Island actually ‘lost’ little  Elida, who had gotten sick. They later found her in a New York City hospital suffering from asthma. She was eventually sent back to Sweden, and never saw the Midwest.  None of them spoke English, and their last names were changed to a more American spelling.  Then one of them goes missing. It was a terrible first few experiences in a new country.  It got worse.

Grandma and her siblings took a train from NYC to Chicago. En route, one of the passengers slit his throat in the bathroom of the train, and they all had to watch the blood flow down the aisle of the train car.  From what she told me, nobody did anything to help the situation.  They were all quite young, in a new country, not knowing the language, and witnessing things that were completely horrifying to anybody who was familiar with their surroundings.

My dad was born in 1932, and his parents were too poor to care for him initially.  They were thrilled with a new son, but heartbroken at not being able to care for him. They were very  grateful to have family friends  ‘keep him’ for nearly eighteen months until they could properly care for him.  They all saw each other, but it wasn’t the same.  Once he was back with them for good, he did the typical things a young boy did. His first major accomplishment was to learn English when he went to kindergarten; he spoke Swedish the first five years of his life.  His parents learned English from him, and immersion in the American culture.  Dad went to Boy Scouts, had a paper route at age nine, and ran with his friends in the neighborhood.  He still has some of those friends now.  He remembers hearing about Pearl Harbor when it was announced on the radio.   He remembers clearly when his younger brother arrived in 1946.  He remembers every job he had, and worked hard for decades.

He became a born-again Christian just prior to going to college.  That was the single most important decision in his life.  He joined a solid church, and still goes there nearly every Sunday.  His core circle of friends is there- and they’ve all known each other since the 50s or before.  I’m indescribably thankful for his decision that I be raised in the church.

Dad went to college with a good friend, by working his way through, and graduated from the University of Illinois.  He became a teacher of history and P.E.  He got his Masters in Education in night school.  Later he became an assistant principal of a middle school, then the principal of another middle school, and finally a high school principal at the school I attended.  He was there for twelve years. Now they can’t get anyone to stay for more than a few years. Fortunately for me, he was liked, or that could have been weird.  At first, he’d gone to college to become a lawyer !

He and my mom got married in 1957.  A couple of years later, they lost their first son to hyaline membrane disease (something that would be easily treated now).  Another couple of years later brought more devastation when they lost the second newborn to the same disease. My mom never saw the babies.  Dad had to plan each funeral on his own- both before he was thirty years old.  It was then they decided to adopt a child, and got me in 1963. Mom never really recovered from the deaths of the babies; dad became more driven to work.

Dad and mom travelled extensively over the years, getting to all fifty states and fifty countries before mom died in 2003.  As a teenager I wasn’t that thrilled about not getting to go with them, but I got to stay with my grandparents (I was the only grandkid on that side of the family, which definitely had perks).  That was OK.  Now, I’m so thankful they had the opportunity and ability to do that traveling.  Since mom died, dad has travelled even more, including two cruises (Australia and the Panama Canal) and a trip to Ireland.   He’s done countless road trips, and winter escapes, in this country.

Mom’s illness had a huge impact on dad.  She had multiple cancers and other surgeries,  so was frequently in some state of recovery.  The dementia from the brain radiation was the roughest , as she deteriorated one cell at a time. That left a shell of who she had been and froze the grieving process mid-stream, as she was still technically present. He never complained about taking care of her.  He shaved her legs, trimmed her radiation-ravaged hair, and bought her clothes. He learned how to dress and transfer her from her chair to the bed, and anyplace else she needed to ‘land’.  When she thought it was time for Thanksgiving in July, he went to as many grocery stores as it took to find pumpkin pie for her.  He never thought to tell her ‘no’, as he never wanted her to  feel he was treating her without dignity.  When she died, I knew what was happening (I’d been a nurse for 18 years at the time), but he thought she would pull through just like she always did.  He was heartbroken.  He really loved her; they were faithful to each other for 46 years.  He has told me that if he were to do it over again knowing how she would end up, he still would have married her.  She could be difficult; she  could carry on a conversation about 40 years ago, but don’t ask her what she had for breakfast.  He still stayed with her, and refused to consider a nursing home.

He was (and is) fortunate to have many church and high school friends, and kept active in those early months after mom died.  He found people to hang out with, and when my health has had some significant bumps in the road, has always been there for me.  His main ‘job’ when I’m in the hospital is dog-sitting.  He loves his grandogger. And she loves him.

My dad isn’t perfect, and some in my mom’s family have seriously disliked  him over the years.   He cares about them, because they’re part of my mom. He’s ticked me off at times, but he’s my dad.  I love him more than I could ever stay mad at him.  Yeah, he can drive me nuts sometimes, but that’s just ‘normal’. I’m sure I drive him nuts sometimes, too !  I was never beaten or otherwise abused by him.  He always sought my greater good.  But he never ‘made’ me do anything for his sake.  If he nudged me, it was for my good.  He has a really good heart, and can’t stand to see anyone in pain.  That’s the only thing he’s ever stepped away from the room for when I’ve been in the hospital- even if I don’t complain. He can’t stand to watch someone he loves hurt.  The people who don’t believe that don’t know my dad well enough to have a clue.

In the end, I know he is the primary human in my corner, who is there  unconditionally.  I dread the day when his time on earth is over.