CharmingBitch

Traveling, Winter Storms & Worst Daughter EVER

Belive it or not, the worst daughter in the title refers not to my sister but to me. Me, who just came thisclose to telling my  grieving mother to SHUT UP when she started crying about how much she misses her husband, my dad. That's right. My reaction was to say SHUT UP because I am all cried out, for now at least, all done with hearing stories about my father and for the love of gravy, I cannot take another single word about how much anyone else, even my mom, misses him because fuck me running, I miss him, too.

But, like I said, I only came thisclose, I didn't let the words out, not verbally. Just here. In reality I just hugged her and nodded and listened. That is all she needed, a minute, a second of time to re-group. And really, that is all we ALL need at this point. This whole process feels like it's been on-going for months and it's really only been a little over a week. He still isn't buried though, thanks worst goddamn winter storm in Portland/Vancouver in oh, 40 motherfucking years. Timing, my dad had it. Heh.

Speaking of the storm of all storms, allow me to share with you the story of how we eventually arrived in the grand ole NorthWest. Original plan: Chemo on Monday, drive directly to Gulfport with all four kids in tow, leave car at Mike's (ex husband), fly from Gulfport to Atlanta where we would meet up with one of my aunt's to fly into Portland, all together. Yeah, riiiiiiiiiiight.

What actually occured: Chemo Monday, drove to Gulfport, left car at Mike's, went to the airport and found out our flight from Atlanta to Portland was cancelled due to the weather. Fuuuuuuuck. Soonest flight into Portland? Decemeber 27th. Into Seattle? Christmas Day. Oh fuck me gently with a chainsaw, are you KIDDING ME? So. Next ''best'' option is to re-book for the next day to fly from Gulfport to Atlanta then Atlanta to San Francisco and then RENT A CAR TO DRIVE THE REMAINING 600 MILES. Meaning, the FIVE of us needed to be at the airport in Gulfport at 5 in the morning on Tuesday. Hi, Mike? Can we have a sleep-over? Thanks! That's right - My ex-husband and his lovely wife took ALL of us in that night, bless their souls forever. Was chaotic but awesome, you know? Did I mention the chemo on Monday and the non-stop vomiting that lasted all damn night? Yeah. Great houseguest, that's me.

Oh, I know. Believe me, I KNOW. But, what other option did I have at that point? None. And we were just thankful there were enough seats for us on the San Fran flight that I didn't bitch. Much. My aunt was able to re-book on the flight after ours into San Fran (this was after she spent Monday flying from Birmingham to Memphis to Atlanta to discover the Portland flight was cancelled. Yeah. She was...displeased). Meaning I would have 3-4 hrs to kill in an airport with four kids until my aunt arrived and we could get on the road. I won't even bore you with the details of the flight to ATL (hell on earth in one solid hour) nor the flight to San Fran (there wasn't a soul on the flight that didn't want to eat our faces off by the time we landed). Both were horrid. The hours in the airport though, that was the real fun. Four sleep deprived, time zone confused kids plus an area with nothing but security = Oh dear god, please just arrest me so I can get a nap.

My aunt finally arrived and off we set to tackle the last 600 miles of this journey which began a scant EIGHTEEN HOURS earlier. We made it as far as Yreka CA (about 300 miles) before chains (that we had to buy and install) were required and oh, I don't even have words for what a thrill that was because the closest I can come sounds something like this: $%^&(*$&(*^*^%^%%$!!!@@#$%%@#@$@@@@@@!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And remember kids, you can only drive about 35mph on chains. In the snow. And then came the rain. And sleet. And my suicidal ideations because: UGH!!!!

But we finally made it to Vancouver. At 4PM. On Wednesday. Total travel time: 35 hrs.

And given that most of my dad's family (and my sister and BIL) was already here, that is when the fun really began.

The Message

My dad is not one really to pick up the phone and just chat. Oddly, just before the Ankle Incident earlier this year, he called me that Friday night and we talked for about an hour and a half. Some of his meds had just been changed and he sounded really, really good and clear headed. Mom was staying at my sister's to keep her from wilding out while her (sister's) husband was in California burying his dad so I suppose Dad was just bored and wanted to shoot the shit.

We didn't talk about anything but we didn't talk about nothing, either. It was just a nice talk and I was so glad he was feeling better, in good spirits. I had the opportunity to see him that next day (Saturday) but I didn't and WHAMMO come Sunday, everything had changed. I was so, so glad if nothing else, I had that last conversation with him because for many long weeks, I thought that would be our last communication.

Well. At some point in the last week or two, my dad again picked up the phone and called me. He got voicemail and let me tell you, as unlikely as he is to call in the first place (but just to clarify, we would talk when Mom would call, it's just that from their end, she usually instigated the calls, not my dad) he is even less likely to leave a message. Anything more than, ''This is Dad, call me.'' was extraneous. To further the eventual point of this story, I never save messages. Well, every once in a while D will leave a cute one I may keep for awhile but overall, I am a listen and delete kind of girl.

But at some point in the last week or so my dad did call and he did leave a message. I heard it today and it took me by surprise. I had no idea it was there waiting and I have no memory of the call, the message or calling him back (though I'm sure I did).

It's Dad, baby. I was just calling to see how you was doing and to see if you got your medicine okay. Please call me back, I'm worried to death for you. I love you. Thank you.

Like, I said, I have no memory of the message but I am so, so glad I saved it, for whatever reason. I do recall one of the last conversations I had with him in which he said (it was during one of the very, very worst days I have had), ''I just wish I could take it away from you, take it on myself. I'm so sorry you're sick little girl, I would take it if it could, I swear.''

My dad loved me. I loved my dad. And nothing, no family drama, no bullshit can or will change that and I am therefore going to try MIGHTILY to leave the drama llamas out in the yard fighting over their own shame in not having appreciated him more when he was living and get on with the business of making this trip easier for the kids (this is the 2nd grandfather the littles have lost in a year) and helping my mom however she deems most helpful and most necessary.

Deep breath. Let me be the bigger person. Let me be the bigger person. Lather, rinse, repeat as needed. Exhale.

2008 is an Asshole, SRSLY - UPDATED

So when my dad was admitted Monday they saw a 'spot' on his lung that they assured my mom was related to the pneumonia and was absolutely not cancer, nope, sure is NOT, don't even think that, no way.

Except how it is cancer, Stage 4, aggressive and my dad will likely not regain consciousness and will be gone dead before Christmas.

You win 2008. YOU FUCKING WIN.

* Number of relatives told to go piss up a rope:                 4

* Number of times I have felt bad about that                    0

* Number of plane reservations made                               5

* Number of years this trip will take off my life                140

* Number of times I have decided none of this is real  4847595

And also, because I know you care, my dad WILL be buried with a 21 gun salute and full military pomp and circumstance. Which he deserves. Y'all know that man retired at just a shade past 40 as an EQMC (Master Chief which in civilian speak translates to BIG DEAL), right? Yeah. My dad is was the shit. Seriously. And you know what else? Living your life as an example of How A Man Handles His Business, makes it easier for your broken hearted daughter to write your eulogy. Remember that, yo.

Fuck, this cannot be real.

Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before

So. My dad is in the hospital again. Like clockwork, every year between November and February my dad gets bronchitis. It is what it is and all you can do is deal with it except this time as he was leaving for an appointment with his Doctor Monday, he had what might call an unusual side effect of bronchitis. Namely, ending up with underwear full of blood. I know, right? I hate it when that happens.

Mom called the Doctor (and the Dr said, no more monkeys jumping on the bed, har har) who said, ''Lady. Srsly. Why are you calling me? Call 911, fool.'' And so she did. And so an ambulance came and again took him not the hospital 4 blocks from their house but the hospital 15 miles north. Which, granted, is a super nice and very new hospital. It's also the same hospital that shit on him in a major way when after 5 weeks of being in a versed coma behaved as if it was unspeakable to expect them to, you know, care for him as he was trying to regain consciousness.

ANYWAY. Will save my bitter about that bunch of bullshit for another day but my true concern is that Vancouver is having some super duper shitty weather right now, like ice and snow that my mom cannot and should not be driving in and now my dad is situated in a hospital that makes it far more likely that my mom will also end up a patient there as she tries to go see him daily now that he has inexplicable internal bleeding (hence the drawers full of blood), pnemonia and is on a vent.

But What Can We Do?

As I said in the last post, Ann Marie showed our family overwhelming generosity. What I didn't expect was the next e-mail from this lovely lady asking, in the kindest most gentle way possible, if she could send holiday gifts for the kids. To say we were touched is putting it mildly, very very mildly. Since then there has been nothing short of an avalanche in our in-boxes asking and offering the same, to the point that we didn't even know how to reply.

See, the thing, it is this: After Katrina, the whole internet offered everything in the world because I lost, literally, everything in my world. But not because of pride but because I didn't (for um, years) have anywhere to put or store any replacement items, I said thanks, but no. When Jackson died, again, people reached out and offered various and sundry things and I again said no. I would like to say pride wasn't involved in that decision but in such large part, yes, it was pride and ego because in sharing my grief or accepting things in memory of Jackson, it felt like sharing too much, asking too much, giving away my sorrow and I wanted it all, for me, for us because it was so, so fucking raw.

But this isn't about me. Or D. And please, PLEASE understand, things are tight now, as they are for everyone but these kids will have a nice holiday. We're not waiting to be on an Angel Tree or anything like that but at the same time, saying no this time, out of my own or D's pride seems like a shitty thing to do and frankly, these kids have had enough shitty things done on their behalf so this time, this time, I say YES. Understand, again, please, I am not not not not not not not asking anyone to do anything. Blimey, we KNOW how strapped everyone is and how all are struggling. But so many have asked, I think this is the easiest way to address it, on their behalf.

Deep breath. Now that all the disclaimers, justifications and caveats are out of the way, I have created a Wish List at Target. I am pretty sure I did it wrong because some of the stuff says online only, some is in store only (ok, ok I fixed it, y'all - everything is now available online, thanks for the help!) but the basic idea is this: None of them need anything and the list should give anyone interested a basic idea of their wants. Now, for those who want to do other things, send things directly to the house etc., please e-mail me and we can work out the logistics (and thank you mightily for caring - which is not to say that you don't care if you don't ask, but I hope you guys know what I mean).

Comments to this entry will be closed because if you feel the need to wear me or D out, tell us were selfish, greedy assholes or ever what else you need to vent from your spleen, feel free to blast us in e-mail but I am not going to give trolls the chance to shit on this when the spirit in asking what can be done was so genuine and sincere.

You Can't Win if You Don't Enter

Ok! Remember how about a month ago I posted about winning an Amazon gift card and a neat new movie for the kids? Well!! Things have only been looking UP UP UP since then as I have entered every-single-giveaway in the blogosphere with a great degree of success luck!

No Day Like a Snow Day

Contrary to earlier news reports, hell has not, in fact, frozen over. It's just snowing in Mississippi, is all!

You know, one of the reasons we moved back to the South was that in Portland/Vancouver, we didn't get nearly enough snow/ice/lousy, depressing weather. Good thing we came back to Mississippi so we could be sure to get our fill!!

The best thing about the snow is that it canceled my appointment for chemo today (I know, I shouldn't be happy about that but seriously, getting those treatments when D isn't home is a very specific, fresh hell in managing myself and the kids). The worst thing is that the kids are literally head over heels for this white devil ice and the chances of it being repeated are slim to none. Ah well, like everything else, all you can do is enjoy it while it lasts.

  

Sunday Hymns - NSFW. Even a little bit. SRSLY.

So. D and I like to pretend ''our song'' is ''Field of Stone'' by David Allen Coe (w/ Tanya Tucker originally). Our real and actual song, along with the almost respectable fake out are below the cut and please, listen to both but for the love of Children's Services, do so with headphones. Or after your kids are in bed. Or grown and living one thousand miles away.

Oh yes. It's exactly that awesome.

You're welcome!

In other news, The Cancer, it still Sucks

So, I managed to do it again. Drop a bomb and walk away for damn near a month. Sorry about that (but not really because dude, chemo makes a bitch tired).

First an update of sorts about the actual treatment: Great googly moogly, chemo, like truckin, ain't for sissies. Grief and goodness, I had no idea. I mean, I guess I just thought, well I have been on eleventy frillion different meds over the last few years for MRSA that have kicked me squarely in my fancy place without remorse, how much worse, really, can chemo drugs be on a scale of one to ten? According to my math, MRSA drugs, even the worst (like say Zyvox, that in all reality killed my son), score a solid ten out of ten in any given misery index. Chemo drugs though, whoa effin nellie. Those assholes are an easy one hundred and eleven. And I know, believe me, I KNOW those of you reading this who have experienced chemotherapy be it via oral drugs or IV are right now, as you read this, lighting torches and headed to my house to burn DUH both in my lawn and on my forehead for good measure. And rightfully so because it's not that I ever, ever thought, ''Pfffft. Cancer. Piece of cake.'' I assure you, that is not the case. It's just one of those things, much like losing a child that you know instinctively is terrible but until you personally get the diagnosis and swallow the the poison (chemo), there is just no way to know the horror and vague sense of helplessness that fills every cavity of your person.

Oh did I just compare cancer to losing a child? I sure did and should you want to argue the validity of the comparision, with me, given that I have actual not theoretical, experience with both, I emphatically double dog dare you. Because I won't tell you how you feel, how you should feel or how you should behave in either circumstance and I assure you, I will appreciate the same courtesy.