I Don’t Like Turnips

I’ve been wondering about sores in Dad’s mouth for the last few days. Today I asked about it and it sounds like he has thrush. Huh. But no one noticed until I said it. Small potatoes I guess but I’m still mad.

Dad has a blood clot in his arm. More meds for that. He had a CT scan today for brain clots. It’s possible that he has brain clots and has suffered a stroke. FUCK!

Here is my thought and it’s not kind nor is it pretty. What if dad is a turnip? He opens his eyes but does not blink. I have been wondering about his brain function for days. What if he’s a turnip? Alive, sure. Aware of the need to continue on, yes. But living within the confines of a pot, his brain, and not destined to be much more? FUCK!

Dad had this surgery to extend his life. Dad did this for all of us, but mostly mom and himself. Something that was supposed to go well, despite its complexity, was supposed to turn out ok. And nothing has been ok.

Ken and I are getting married. On Monday we will get the wedding license so it’s on hand. I feel horrible because I know his mom wants to be there but if things go south, I won’t have her in ICU without my mom and the hospital permission. I don’t want her to hate me for that. I need my dad to be there. I need him to be awake. But both of those things are very tenuous. I am praying that we have some brighter days ahead, but I just don’t know. Sorry Mama Weed. I hope you can understand.

This shit sucks. I guess nothing is for certain in this life. People die all the time, for numerous reasons. People have hangnails removed and get an infection that takes their life. People have surgery to extend their life and they end up a turnip.

I don’t like turnips. I don’t like thinking of Dad caught in his own body and unable to do anything. I have always had the idea that people with brain injury or illness are fully aware. They are stuck withing their own bodies that won’t function for them, but they are there.

I’ve seen people with advanced dementia have moments of clarity, usually right before death. Where they can recall their past, including their recent past. That tells me that the brain is working, even if the body is not. This is also a horrible thought for me. That my dad is trapped in there without a way out to where we are.

Please don’t let him be a turnip. Please let him come back to us.