Danger Will Robinson, Danger.

I have used this blog as a place to vent to and share deep and not so deep thoughts. Well, today this blog is going to become a personal outlet for some current frustrations in my life. Namely my mother. Don't get me wrong, I do love her, even though this post will probably not portray that.

Saturday evening we took my dad to the emergency room. Which right now seems like a lifetime ago, could be because I'm exhausted. But, I digress, and it's way to early to do that.

I don't understand how she couldn't see how very sick he was. I walked in the door and after 5 minutes of conversation with him, I knew that he wasn't ok, even though he insisted he was. He was panting like my dog does when he lays in the back yard in 100* weather and sun bathes. Yet, he was sitting almost completely still in a chair. He assured me that he was just having a bad day. Um. No. He wasn't thrilled to be going to the doctor when my grandmother, his mother, and I convinced him that he should be going to the doctor. But he finally caved. Which, I'm very thankful for, otherwise we would be planning his funeral. His doctors have assured me of that fact. Another couple of days and it would have been too late. Right now he lies in an ICU bed with a tube shoved into his stomach to provide him some type of nourishment, as well as on a ventilator. There isn't a doubt in my mind that another day and he would have died.

My mom wanted me to take him to the doctor while she watched over her grandkids, my niece and nephew who were visiting for Spring Break. Her reason was that he would change his mind. We intended to follow her with the children in tow. It wasn't the ideal situation, but you do what you have to do. My husband dealt with the children while I sat in the room with my father waiting on the test results. My mom debated leaving once we discovered that he was going to be admitted. I'm glad she didn't, simply because when his CO2 levels got too high, he kinda flipped out, and I was thankful that I wasn't there alone with him. Not because I was afraid of him, but because we needed 2 hands so he didn't rip his IV and stuff out, which could have been a disaster.

We finally got him moved to ICU and about 3am went home. She stopped by my house and we called my step-sister and shared with her the latest information. At 4am the hospital called to tell me that he was being moved to a ventilator, because his blood gases still weren't where they needed to be. Awesome. They also informed me that they were taking him for a CT scan, because they were concerned that something else might be wrong.

We finally managed to make it to bed, but at 5am, I heard my cookoo clock chirp. The nurse called again at 6:45, and my alarm went of at 9 so that I could call my grandmother and give her an update. As far as they knew, he only had pneumonia, they didn't know he was in ICU and I didn't want them to show up and the hospital and not be aware of what was going on. So I called and gave them the low down.

Sundays at my house usually involve a lot of things. Like cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping and homework, but since I'm on Spring Break this week, homework is just a very bad dream. My grandmother was at the hospital, so I figured that I would take the opportunity to clean and do a little laundry and that I would take the afternoon shift. So we spent an hour mopping and scrubbing, just in case my mom needed somewhere to crash, my house was neat and clean. Not that it's usually a mess, considering it took us a whole 60 minutes to get it done.

We got ready and headed to the hospital. We chatted with the nurse and got the low down on how he was doing today, and what the plan was now. My mom was planning on coming for the evening shift. But her electricity went out and she refused to leave. So she didn't come Sunday.

Monday, I had to work. I had planned on working full time this week, and even though he was in the hospital that was still my plan. I wanted the extra cash to help to catch us back up after John's bought with unemployment. So I got up and went to work. There was a misunderstanding between my mom and my grandmother and if not for my insistence, she probably wouldn't have made it on Monday night either.

There house was horrific when I was there Saturday. There kitchen was buried, their dining table buried, it was like watching an episode of hoarders unfold before my very eyes. There was trash, and groceries that needed to be put away, it was just horrific. So I'll admit that she needs her house cleaned. Bad. So Sunday afternoon and Monday she did just that. She has been cleaning and organizing her house. She blames it on my father that she can't accomplish this any other time, yet I remember when they first got married that he typically helped her, or at least left her alone to get it done.

Yesterday, she was supposed to come to the hospital. I called her at 8:30 and she was a no show. She was cleaning up my father's man cave and just wanted to get it done. Which, is fine, but if that were my husband laying in ICU on a ventilator, I would be there with him. Granted, I would need to be practical, and I might not be there every second, but I honestly don't know. I'd rather not find out how I have to react to that situation. He almost died and she is worried about cleaning her house than about him. Granted he is oblivious either way, but still.

She's never been one to visit people in the hospital. She doesn't come see her mother in law, she often didn't come see my grandfather when he was in the nursing home. And once we moved him to Lubbock, I'm not sure that she ever stepped foot in the door any other days other than the day he moved in and the day he died. She's not a visitor. She would rather you come to her, which I understand too. But life doesn't work that way. It makes me wonder what is really going on between her and my dad. It makes me wonder if they have quit being married and are more like roommates who are affectionate of each other, yet wouldn't mind it if the other walked off a tall cliff.

I was telling a good friend about how crazy it drove me, and she said it seemed heartless. She's right. It's also loveless. Sure, I can think of a million other things that I would rather be doing during those brief visits to the hospital. Yet, I'm there. Every.single.day. I'm exhausted. I had things I wanted to accomplish over Spring Break, and all of that has taken a back seat. It can wait. It's important that my father knows that someone loves him. That someone cares about him. It's important that he hears my voice. Even though I've had some odd conversations with him. I told him last night that his "food" looked like Eagle Brand Milk, but probably tasted like poo. Then that conversation continued on to discuss how exactly one knew what poo tasted like. I don't eat poo, I'm sure he doesn't. I'm pretty sure that's when I realized that I was exhausted. But he looks peaceful, which gives me a sense of comfort in hopes that he will be ok. That he is just busy getting better.

I'm not sure what's going to happen when he wakes up, or even when he goes home. But I have a funny feeling that this is going to change a lot of things in his life and my mothers life, whether they want it too or not. There is definitely going to be an intervention. He's in for a rude awakening. Wake up from a drug induced coma and suddenly your a non smoker, and a health food junkie.  That'll teach him.