The cleanup

It's been a long long time since I've felt capable enough to write here. So much has happened; in one sense, it feels like forever has passed since we were at transplant - in another, it feels like it happened yesterday. I have been through a whirlwind of emotions and just have not felt up to reliving it all.

After the transplant, Dad stayed in ICU for a week. It's not normal to stay in for that long, but they were very worried about his kidneys. But, they picked up and he was moved to the ward. He stayed in the ward for another week and was due to go home. On the day he was supposed to go home, he had a seizure, so he had to go downstairs to neurology for a few days before going back up to ward 8 before coming home a week later than planned.

Since then; physically, he's been coming ahead in leaps and bounds. Honestly, it's scary to think that 9 weeks ago we were seriously looking at life without him; then 9 weeks later have him back at work wanting to know what's going on. The transplant team are absolutely gobsmacked and he is trudging along in leaps and bounds.

Things they don't tell you so much about;
1. When they tell you that the medication can make you a bit hostile - do not believe them.
This week has been the first week since transplant where I have seen remanents of my
father.

He was so....angry? with the world after transplant. He got out on the Thursday and bought a car on Saturday (do NOT ask) and was livid because we dare ask if it could wait a week. I mean not just agro, but seriously livid I was called all sorts of names and spat at because I dare ask why he needed 8 smoke detectors in his house. And after everything we had been through both with and for him; I snapped. There was my threshold.

Since the 'smoke detector' incident, I have stayed away from all of my family. I felt as though mum was 'feeding' the behaviour by smiling and nodding; and I felt as though my sister was only 'supporting' him because she knew what side of the bread was buttered on. There was no way known I was going to smile and nod through that; and I just did not care how sick he was. I took the kids, my husband and myself; and locked up in our house.

I was very much 'after everything we have been through; this is the father that we end up with'; and if I'm truly honest, I did wonder whether it was a waste of an organ. My father was more worried about his car, or getting some stupid block of land in Nagambie; than realising that he has been given a second chance at life.

The drugs he was on have been reduced already - which is where we're starting to see the remenants of the man we tried to save come back. But, because we've had such a long time with 'encephalopathy dad' for so long; that I had started to forget who dad was.

At the moment, our extremely close, talking every day family, has been fractured. It's not broken, there's no heartbreak or anger or tears. When I stepped back from everyone earlier, I felt as though it was the right thing. And not talking to my sister for 3 weeks is less 'what are you fighting about' - and more normal.

I said to a girlfriend that I am feeling as though all my thoughts & feelings have been tipped around like a snow globe. And that everything, whilst it is all still there, has fallen in different places. And whilst it's different - I feel as though it's a good different.

But can I say that I'd do it again to get here? Nup. Not yet anyway.

Paying Debts without money

As part of my job, I carry a pager. Our company provides 24/7 service you see, so if someones coolroom isn't working @ 2am, it's my job to send an electrician out.

Wednesday night, I bombed. Literally. My boss, M, was woken up throughout the night by pagers going off because it was so hot. He was Ok about it, but I felt like a shit.

But; what goes around comes around (as we all well know). Mum called @ 2am - Dad was a mess. All she could understand was that he was going to kill her. So, over I go (J was on her way too, but it's me who seems to be able to put him in his box when he's nuts). He'd also wet the bed. At fifty-fucking-six. Really, WHO wants their child to see them like that?

He tells me over and over that he's going to kill my mother until I snap and yell at him that he has to come through me first and bloody good luck with that. I *know* he doesn't mean it and I *know* he'd have no hope in hell of hurting her; but bloody hell. After EVERYTHING my mother (especially) does for him....

He was at the hospital all day yesterday because he was a little bit outside the box; the fuckers sent him home. But his bloods are fine - so what the hell this is this time, I have no idea. Mum and J are at the hospital now and will no doubt call me when they hear something.

I figure my Wednesday night debt is paid in full and then some.