I lost track of the intellectual, no doubt thought-provoking opening statement I wanted to write up… More importantly, a large spider came creeping up along my bed. Needless to say its dead, and needless to say its jarring appearance distracted me. I’ve lost my place.
Oh, excuse typos (not what I was thinking of earlier but we’ll need to start anew somewhere) I am writing on my mobile.
I could go on about the juxtaposition of posting a “private” online diary but I won’t bother. I’ve read the brief previews of the latest diary entrees on this sight, entirely unmoved. Humanity never changes. There is a quote I… (need to find)…
(Ah, I found it.)
“I feel like we’re going in circles… Long circles that take years, but around and around all the same.”
A shame I didn’t write down where I got it from…
It’s 12:51AM now. Mom distracted me. She approached me and asked me my advice on how to handle my terminally ill stepfather. The doctors are in no few words saying he will not be receiving another liver.
(Mom): “The doctors basically told him he’s not getting a liver due to his ‘deep psychological issues’ and that they’ll try to keep him alive with the liver he has now.”
Then she asked me something. Something I would obviously not have an answer to. There are no good answers in life, not when it pertains to death.
I remember saying something like, “I never thought he was going to get a liver in the first place.” Depressing perhaps, but honest.
(Mom): “Why would you say that?”
(Me): “He’s the one who ruined his liver. He’s not exactly a sympathetic case.”
(Mom): “No, he didn’t. He didn’t drink or take drugs. He didn’t damage his liver…”
(Me): “What are you talking about? All he did was drink when he was young.”
(Mom, visibly upset): “The doctors said if he just stopped drinking, he would be fine…”
(Me): “Ignorance of his predisposition toward the disease does not excuse the fact he made a poor life choice.”
The lesson of this story is: do not seek me out for comfort when it comes to those you love. I seem to have none. Though… my words did seem to comfort her. Not those ones in particular but after a half hour of my mouth rambling on, mom somehow found peace in it all. I think we ended on the note of:
(Mom): “I just think this hit (stepfather’s name) hard. His doctors saying that to him.”
(Me): “It’ll pass.”
(Mom, confused): “It’ll pass?”
(Me, again): “It’ll pass.”
If there is any one thing I have learned from my own chronic health conditions is that the road tumbles and only gets worse. My stepfather will soon find something far worse to be upset about then his doctors damning him to no new liver.
Ah, oh yes. Another famed comfort line to my mother was: “Besides, would you really want him to get a new liver? He gains time, but no relief [from the pain].”
Then my mother admitted to refusing to participate in a live liver transplant for my stepfather. She asked me, “Would you do it? Would you give your liver to someone like that?”
(The obvious implication being my stepfather would most likely not take care of it nor himself.)
(Me): “I wouldn’t be able to say no, but I’m not offering either.”
(Mom, slightly stumped): “I would. I said no.”
(Me): “…OK?”
Then she went on to relieve herself of guilt, “It’s a moot point anyway (our hospital’s name) doesn’t do live transplants.”
(To be honest, I don’t think my mother would qualify as a decent donor anyway.)
I don’t really know what the moral of my life is. My cat is sleeping at the foot of my bed, my mouth is swollen; it is very hard to breathe…
It’s a shame my body can’t even fight off the most mildest of illnesses. It’s a terrible preview of how I’m likely going to die. Maybe it’ll be this small virus that finally kills me.
My cat is sleeping at the foot of my bed.
(^･ｪ･^)
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