Pissed

I must be the worst caregiver ever. I just spent about a hour on the phone with my uncle complaining about my dad, my frustrations over his nasty attitude, and without a doubt conveyed my total discombobulated state of crazy. I'm sure he thinks I'm the worst kind of daughter, and will no doubt tell the rest of his siblings their eldest brother needs to be rescued from his uncaring offspring. My uncle will be here on January 27th - THANK GOD! He said he'll stay either 2-3 weeks. Notice how he gives himself the out of being able to leave earlier. He knows his brother well. For the record, I love my dad--would do just about anything to help him recover, but he can be very, very difficult. This isn't an anomoly, he was difficult before his surgery.

Before the surgery we tried to assure him that he could count on us to help him recover. His response, "Oh well, everybody says they'll help but..." I truly do not know why he has such a lack of faith in us. Okay, so I grit my teeth and allow his comments to flow over me like the sea. Positive energy in, negative energy out...breathe.

So yesterday my dad and I take a trip to the store and then stop at the gas station. Out of the blue, he says he's decided he's going to start driving again next week. I remind him that the doctor said he didn't want him behind the wheel of a car for at least a month. "Well," he says. "You don't know what he said you weren't there." Did I tell you my dad was a master manipulator? I work full time, but between me and the rest of my family, we make sure his needs are met, and up until today, we never left him alone. He continues, "The doctor just wants to make sure I can get to my chemo treatments every Wednesday." We'd taken him to every appointment since he got out of the hospital but for some reason he'd come to the conclusion we weren't taking him to his chemo appointments? Positive energy in, negative energy out. I take a deep breath before responding. "Dad, we will make sure you get to your chemo treatments." Silence. "Well," he says. "Everybody says they'll help but then..." I lost it. Because this was almost three weeks after checking him out of the hospital, and after changing countless colostomy bags, and after only half sleeping because of trying to keep ears open to any sound that he's in distress, and after changing his bandages, keeping his wounds dry and clean, and cooking his meals and cleaning up clothing dropped in the middle of the floor in the kitchen, outside of the laundry room, on the floor in the living room aka makeshift bedroom. And after all that, nothing seems to change his opinion of his worthless, fucking daughter. I'm so tired.

I'm looking forward to spending some alone time at my own home tomorrow. But I'll be back Sunday night...or Monday. Maybe.