Gallstones in New Beginnings

My dad is having health problems. He’s been nautious for the past month or so. Yes, he’s been sick for the past month, and hasn’t done anything about it. He wouldn’t go to the doctor. He doesn’t trust doctors. He believes doctors killed Mom because they were more concerned with milking our insurance company than helping her get better. I don’t know; maybe there was some moral hazzard in play, but what’s the alternative? Apparently, in my dad’s mind, just be sick, miserable, and barely able to eat is an alternative.

His nausea finally got so bad that he relented on not going to the doctor. He has gallstones, which wouldn’t be a problem, but the CT scan revealed some abnormalities with his liver. My sister looked up some information on liver issues, and Dad doesn’t fit in any of those catergories, which makes me concerned. He was schedule to get a biopsy last week, but the doctor had to attend an emergency surgery, so his appointment was moved to next week.

He woke up today feeling horrible, and his sister had to take him to the ER. I waited two hours before they told him he couldn’t be seen today, so he went home. He’s in understandably poor spirits at the moment, and I have no idea what to do. Of his children, I live the closest to him, and I’m three hours away. I’m glad he has extended family nearby, but they have their own lives to live, and they’re also advanced in age, so it’s not like they can take care of him on a regular basis.

I’m worried. I’m depressed. Mostly, I’m pissed.

I’m pissed at my dad. Why couldn’t he take care of himself? Why does he have to hoard junk and live in a filthy trash house? Why can’t he just do what he’s supposed to do? Why can’t he go to the doctor? I realize not every ache or illness requires medical treatment, but when it’s persistent for several days with no sign of improvement, he should know that’s the time to get help. It’s like he wants life to be difficult.

I’m pissed at God. I sacrificed a lot to take care of Dad when he had his brain injury. Since then, it’s like every act of providence just made doing so harder. I must have applied to hundreds and hundreds of jobs during the recession, just to get continually rejected. All I wanted from God during that ordeal was a job not in Atlanta. I wanted a job in Athens, Macon, Augusta, or Savannah because I could have afforded a house in any of those areas. Getting an actual house meant Dad could have stayed with me intermittently, if originally for his emotional health. However, having a house now during his current health problems would be invaluable. My first choice was Athens, partly for sentimental reasons but also because I could have afforded the nicest house there and, thus, most easily accommodated him. When I received no sign of getting a job in any of those locations, I settled for the first job I could get, which was in the Atlanta area. What other choice did I have. I mean, if I didn’t take that job, who knew when the next offer would come?

Apparently, if I had waited just a couple of months, I would could have applied to an accountant position in Athens that was nearly a perfect fit for me. It was also with the county’s public school system, so I would have had summers off. It’s not like I would have had the entire year to take care of him, but that would have been the best possible set up. Why couldn’t that job have become available at any point in the previous two years I was unemployed? Why couldn’t it have become available during my six month contract with my temp position. It’s like God spent two-and-a-half years saying, “Here you go, Rob. Just kidding. Here you go. Just kidding. Here you go. Just kidding. laughs Okay. I’m sorry. Now I’m really going to give it to you. Here you go. Oh no, you took another job. Why did you lose faith?” If God’s not going to help me, couldn’t He at least not mock me?

Finally, I’m pissed at myself. I feel like my dad’s problems, his health, his psychological problems, his living conditions, are my responsibility, and I’ve failed. I feel guilty because I don’t want him to keep on living if he’s going suffer like this. Finally, I feel completely powerless to do anything, one way or the other. Why can’t things just be easy?