Overdue post

My father had a long medical history, some of which I probably still don’t even know of or can’t explain fully. He was bipolar, had some intestinal issue for a short while, and more recently within the past several years was diagnosed with myelofibrosis, anemia, heh, even diabetes.

In September 2004 we learned of the myelofibrosis, and he was given 1.5-2 years to live. From then on I was never solid with my own plans, always somewhat unsure and flaky. I feared RSVP’ing for anything in the future such as gatherings and roadtrips. 1.5-2 years would mean 2006, the time I would just be finishing up with school. Was I supposed to continue living away from home, going on with my studies, and try to graduate right then? Yeah, that’s what I did, only because I had put off a real decision and continued while I was at it. I did look into taking a year off between junior and senior year, and even went over this with my advisor (who was of little help and didn’t even point out possible complications if I had chosen to do so, which I had to research myself and bring them up to her… so lame). I’d also had this talk with one of the engineers I worked with at my summer internship and he suggested taking a year off to get experience and then finish school, which I thought was good advice. I even talked to a second advisor (who was more helpful than the first advisor, though her initial assumption as to why I wanted a year off was because I was pregnant), but getting to the point, I stayed and was able to graduate in 2006. Then the next logical step was to get a job. Again, I didn’t know if it was the appropriate time, plus I didn’t have myself all figured out, and I kinda became a mess*. Getting to the point again, I got a job while my dad was still around. We could all see his condition getting worse; his lost his appetite numerous times, he dropped a lot of weight and aged quickly, and his alertness was shot at certain times of the day.

He no longer attended his church group functions but watched a pastor on TV and constantly read texts.  He was mostly homebound, unless going out for dimsum/dinner or going to his hospital visits. He received blood transfusions** two-three time a month. My brother Ray and I gave him his regular injections***. Ray took care of his weekly huge injection to the leg that complemented his transfusions I think, while I took care of his nightly tiny insulin injections at 9:25pm. I remember at the end of 2007 Ray went away for vacation for several weeks and rookie me had to do the huge injections. He’d prepared me for it and trained me a couple of times. When he left, the first week I had to use two big needles because I wasn’t skilled enough to handle a very full needle, fearing that the plunger could pop off the barrel. The second week my dad dreaded the shots, putting it off for the next night and then the next, and finally insisted I use just one needle and reduce his dose. He couldn’t handle the thought of me stabbing him with two needles and just didn’t care if he wasn’t getting enough. That saddened me, knowing that it was ME, my poor method that was causing him pain and fear.

A little more than a month ago, four years after his diagnosis, my father passed away. It was undoubtedly hard at first, and it still is. The first day and night was the longest. I thought I was done when I retired early to bed, only to be woken up by my nightly phone alarm set for 9:25pm. I realized I had no one to give an insulin shot to, and I just started bawling.  A week later, I had a dream about going out to dinner with my family, and I was serving my dad rice. Bawled again. I keep having dreams about eating out with my family, but I guess that makes sense since that’s what we did together. The most recent one was me splitting some food on my plate and giving him half, though that one didn’t make me cry.

My mom hasn’t returned to work just yet and isn’t ready to sleep by herself, so I’m almost never alone, which means I don’t have the privacy to let out some good cries. Anyway, right now we’re still in a transition period, but some things will be changing. We do have less of an income now, so I think we’re about to cut some services. We’re also thinking about getting someone else to live with us, though the idea of a stranger living with us doesn’t thrill me much. In the mean time, it’s generally isn’t safe anywhere so my mom doesn’t really want me staying home alone, even though I have the guts to do so but less so than before. She actually works graveyard shift, so I’ll almost never see her when she does return to work. I’ll probably rotate my stay at home, at Ray’s and at Mike’s, and maybe even at my aunts’/uncles’/cousins’/grandmother’s place(s). That’s right, I’ll be living out of my suitcase. Moving out isn’t an option for me right now. I have better plans for that money.

I left out a lot of things. Too much effort in explaining every little detail. I hope this will do.

* Even though this is overall a sad post, I’m going to be selfish a bit and say that after being a mess, it seemed like almost everything started going right for me. Things continued going uphill; I was and am very grateful.

** I was, or tried to be if they accepted my iron-deficient blood, a regular blood donor 2004-2007, hence one of my nicknames “Blood Donor” from all my different free t-shirts I received. I finally gave up in 2007 because I got tired of being rejected. And I’ll say right now that some people make no sense.

*** I used to prepare the needles or give my dad his shots away from people. My mom, for one, can’t handle the sight of giving shots. I eventually didn’t care and would do so in front of my friends if they were over at my place. They could choose to look or not. And it was a good thing because I actually got positive feedback, such as I have this skill that not everyone has and that I could possibly look into getting some kind of medical/lab certification on the side. Hmm.

Advertisement