My exhaustion has taken on a new form this morning. I’m not even sure an IV drip of coffee could make me feel utterly awake today. My cats decided they needed treats super early this morning instead of food. Well, my one cat wanted wet food, which we do give her every morning, but the other just wanted treats and someone awake in the house to sit with him. And I think part of it too is that their night last night was turned as upside down as my own. I had to call 911 on my father again. That’s such a strange sentence to type. I realized that last night as I typed it up on my phone to post on Facebook.
Oliver is beside me, making biscuits on my Central Perk blanket, and I’m left in this foggy haze this morning attempting to put everything together. I’m not sure what to think this morning. It’s like my brain is trying to process this event rationally, and my heart is over here like a monster truck trying to run over every car possible because I had to clean up blood last night. I took our Swiffer and got up four spots of blood where my dad’s veins blew out, and he bleed all over our floor. He, of course, realized this and was worried more about that than being poked and prodded last night.
I checked out so hard last night. And I know this because I uttered the words, “Do you see any more spots of blood?” I said this phrase like I clean up blood all the time, and it horrified me to think about as the night went on. And I did think about it. I also was left wondering if asking him to help me put together that damn desk pushed all the underlying symptoms over yesterday. I blamed myself for stressing him out and us yelling at each other during the process. There’s just so much I would have done differently yesterday if I knew the turn the night would take. It’s not like I was some monster, nor was he, but we were not the kindest to each other yesterday.
Rationally, I know I can’t control what his body is going to do, but my heart and anxiety tell me, “LOOK WHAT YOU DID TO YOUR DAD!” And my brain reminds me that my heart is stupid, and that is not true. Then they argue. That’s when I take something to help me sleep cause they cannot chill the fuck out. It’s a more intense version of the brain and heart comics found on The Awkward Yeti.
The cuter version looks like this:
I have a therapy appointment tomorrow, which is funny in a way. I was supposed to down to one appointment a month this year, and in the first two months, I only had one. And something told me last time to set up an additional one for April. I can’t explain it. I do not know why I made that decision, but I’m SO glad I did. I know that I could call her today, and she would fit me in, but honestly, I don’t even know how to wrap my brain around everything yet. Not thoroughly. Even now, I find myself struggling with words because I can’t fully comprehend what happened last night.
So instead, I’m reading on diabetes and dehydration. I’m reading about Diabetic Ketoacidosis. I’m reading about Diabetes Insipidus because my brain is begging for me to fix this while not being a doctor. It’s in my nature to do so. I’d much rather be sleeping, but my body won’t allow it, but it is not accepting the gift of coffee I gave it this morning either. I think I’m going to get together a bag of clothes for him to take up there today after dropping my uncle off at physical therapy.
I know I need to process this a bit more, but until I figure out how, I will keep busy. I won’t listen to Alan Jackson, though. Despite him being my go-to when sad or upset, I learned my lesson last time and stuck to feeling like he’s a jerk for making me cry and deal with the feelings I didn’t want to deal with the last time. I might not have wrapped my brain around them, but my eyes comprehended and acted accordingly, thanks to him. For now, I’m going to try and not think about the heart cath they are doing on my dad this morning, and I’m going to hope my body gives in to the idea of a nap so I can function better later in the day.
You’ll hear from me again tomorrow.
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