Sunday, September 13, 2009

I just have to get it out.

I surged. Blah blah blah. Still waiting on an email from Dr. M to figure out the next steps, but I am thinking we're pushing to November at this point. I'm strangely 'whatever' about this. I don't feel like rushing in many ways, but in many other ways I'm ready for this to end.

I tried to keep this blog without any details of my personal life other than the most personal of things, you know, like dildo-cams and estrogen levels and oh yeah--hopes and dreams and fears of the deepest kind. But you know what I mean--I don't use real names, I don't talk about other details of our lives because I was so afraid of someone stumbling on this and connecting the dots...but I'm sort of over that too. The real person I aimed to protect was myself (from questions asked in real life about how in the hell we could do a fifth IVF) and also my mother. I seriously doubt my mother will find this and I hope if anyone who knows her did figure it out they'd honor my wishes and keep things quiet. So I'm just going to talk because I need to talk.

My Dad.

Oh my God my Dad.

I just returned from a visit. You all who have known me for a while know he had a massive stroke in June.

And while he's doing better than anyone expected and I am thrilled that he survived at all, I am just so pissed right now. I am so sad for him and the quality of life he has been handed. What a shaft. Someone who adored being outdoors, riding his tractor, riding his bike, working his lays in a bed or sits in a wheelchair in a freakin' nursing home, biding his time between rehab sessions where he is making some, but not a lot, of progress. I do not think he will walk again. I think the most we can hope for is that he can help transfer himself from the bed to the wheelchair and back again. He has to wear adult diapers. He is humiliated.

How did this happen? This is the question he asked me this weekend. You do not know pain until your father's deep black eyes have stared into yours and asked "How did I wind up here?"

Of course I had no answer. Why does anything like this happen?

I am feeling angry. Angry and robbed. My children (if I ever get there) will never be driven around on Pumpaw's tractor like his other grandkids. They'll probably only know him as an old man in a wheelchair who is sort of scary and sometimes drools and is messy when he feeds himself. He'll never push them in the tire swing he built for them. He'll never reach down and scoop them up in both of his arms because his left arm is his "stupid dead arm" as he says.

I love him so much it hurts. And that is why it hurts to see him like this.

I have been so PollyAnna through this whole process, trying to be strong for my Mom, hearing only the positive, choosing only to believe that he could recover, reading story after story about recovery.

Kind of like I have done with infertility on so many levels.

Because I have to have hope. I'm addicted to hope.

And while my Dad is doing better, my heart is breaking for all that should have been, all that could have been, all that will never be.

PS I am going to put up a pic at my old place, and post there, where I will tell an equally true but much more positive tale, if you're so inclined...


  1. What happened to your dad just breaks my heart. He was so strong, so athletic, so tough and then the stroke. On the tail end of so many crazy things he's gone through. I hope he pulls through. I hope that he gets to ride with your kids on the tractor and push them on the swing and show them everything he wants to show them. I hope.
    PS He & his dog together on the other blog made me all teary eyed. He can't have his dog with him during rehab at the nursing home? Boo.

  2. I'm so sorry. I am also going thru something, my dad has cancer bad. It is all so terrible. I hate it. I seem to have lost motivation for career etc., have you? Feels like time is slipping away, seems a waste of life to work from 9-5, and yet it is a necessity.
    Best wishes for your dad's recovery, N.

  3. I so wish I could give you a hug right now and sit and listen about it all. I'm so sorry your family is going through this and how it affects you all. Watching someone you love suffer is such a hard thing to do and the unfairness of it all is beyond words.

    My dad was wheelchair bound for pretty much my entire life so it was the only way I ever knew him to be. I was too little to fully get what was going on when it happened, but heard all the stories of "before dad was sick". There is so much grief with letting go of who your dad was and what he could do. Keep talking and letting it all out. It fully sucks.

    As for your kids (yes, you will get there) they will not have ever known him any different. They will figure out things they can do together and bond over things never imagined. He may not be able to teach them things that involve physical activity, but through him they will learn empathy, compassion, understanding, and an acceptance of differences. No, it is not the same, but it can still be amazing. I think so at least. (-;

    I'm sorry you are facing any of this. It sucks. It isn't fair. You deserve to be angry.

  4. I'm so sorry you have to watch your Dad suffer. What's really important is that you do not give up on him getting better. It takes a long time for nerves to regrow, but they do. Many people who have strokes just kinda give up. My husband regrew a nerve in his arm, and it took a year and a half. He had lost the whole nerve in his arm and could not use it. A co-worker almost lost her siatic nerve when she got hit by a car riding a bike. She did regrow her nerve, but it took two years. She couldn't use her left leg, and now she walks just fine. It took a lot of work, physical therapy, and patience.

    Celebrate the little victories with your Dad. Read him "My Stroke of Insight". Healing can happen. It takes a lot of patience and a lot of trust.

    At the same time, you are totally justified in your anger. Let is out! It's just not fair, is it? The only thing we can rely on is change. Your Dad won't be where his is at forever. It will change.

  5. I am so sorry. It is horrible. And unfair.


    Lisa from meinsideout

  6. I don't even know what to say. Life is so unfair. I know your kids will love him anyway and it is you and your family who know what your kids will be missing. But, he is still the great person he was inside. That will still come through. But, it is so so unfair.

  7. I'm sorry that you're going through such a rough time with IF and your dad. Celebrate the small victories, your dad is taking steps forward. Remember, they didn't even expect him to live and he proved them wrong, and I believe he will continue proving them wrong. I know it's a slow painful process, but hang in there.

  8. You've presented such a brave face through ALL of this (IF and your dad's tragic stroke). You're fully allowed to break down from time to time and curse the world. I know that holding on to hope can be so draining and exhausting.

    Like Jill M. said, your dad has proven the doctors wrong on a couple occasions. Who knows what miracles he has left up his sleeves (yes, even the sleeve of his "stupid dead arm.")?

    But I also understand the reality of the situation, and the fact that your dad, as a physical person, has been forever changed. And I'm so, so sorry that your future kiddos won't know him as the intensely active man that you grew up loving. Life doesn't often sugarcoat things, does it?

    Thinking of you often...

  9. I'm so sorry. My father has asked that if he ever gets Alzheimers to help him euthanize himself. It makes me bawl just to think about. But he is adamant that he doesn't want a diminished quality of life or to be a "burden" on us. It is so tragically unfair that such awful things happen to such good people.

  10. It is not fair, and it sucks, and IT IS NOT FAIR. I don't understand why these things happen to good people, but I'm sorry.

    I wish I had something better to offer you...maybe a discussion on the first half of season 1 of thirtysomething?