If This Were Funny, I'd Laugh

Beloved brought FIL home late yesterday afternoon. He found out that the path and ramp we had put it is a wee bit steeper than he had anticipated. For my part, I knew there was no way I would be able to push FIL up it. Beloved got him in the house and then the real struggle began.

Neither one of us truly anticipated the amount of care that FIL was going to need. Yes, we knew that he cannot put any weight on the broken ankle, but we didn't really understand what that meant.

It means:

FIL has to have someone here 24/7
FIL needs help getting into the bathroom
into bed
into a chair
FIL needs help with his clothes
his sock
FIL needs a cook
a nurse
a house keeper
FIL needs someone to remind him to take his meds
to drink enough water
and someone to empty the potty pot

We haven't even attempted a shower...

For whatever reason, none of us put together all the pieces of this puzzle to see that FIL requires a great deal and we are the ones to give it. And I have to admit that for his part, FIL is being a peach. Truly, and he is usually NOT a peachy guy.

This makes me happy.

It makes me feel like maybe we'll survive this. It is, after all, what it is. I've sent out an SOS to the rest of the family and felt some positive vibes flow back my way, so maybe, just maybe, we'll have a couple pair of extra hands at least twice per week.

Yes, we may survive intact.

Yet, I'm stressed. My blood pressure is too high, I can feel it and I'm constantly worried that FIL will fall.

Not on my watch buddy!

To make matters more interesting, God threw me a curve ball in the form of a call from my estranged brother, Golden Child. You may recall that GC and I haven't spoken since that unfortunate event the day my Omi passed away. GC left a very nasty message on my phone telling me that our father is in the hospital.

Yes, the same father who told me that I was a disrespectful child, a liar, and basically a useless human being. He also stated, way back in September, that he was, and I quote, "Done with me if I didn't make things right with my mother!"

Which leaves me a couple of options:

1. I can rush to my father's bedside and beg his forgiveness and make amends with Satan...er, my mother.

2. I can phone him and tell him I am sorry he is ill and attempt to avoid a conversation that begins, "You need to make things right with your mother...."

3. Ignore the entire event and let sleeping dogs lie.

4. Pack up and move out of state.

I decided on phoning him and actually managed to dial his hospital room, but unfortunately no one answered. A friend suggested I call the nurses station and leave a message, so at least he'll know I called. I thought this to be a great idea and did so.

So, between FIL's broken ankle and neediness, my father's illness (which will more than likely kill him at some point in time), my harried work schedule, my Beloveds adjusting to being a part time care giver, graduation, and my pending trip South in the name of justice, I'm ready to crumble.

I just wish I could sit back and laugh at all the craziness.