Happiness.

Hearing my father belly laugh for the first time in years. He looks at me, as we are waiting in the doctor's office, all serious - "Say-ruh, Ahm sorry, but Ah think Ah have to fart." I cracked up and he cracked up and I told him just to let it rip then. Told him at least he wasn't so deaf he couldn't hear that. He laughed until tears came down his cheeks.

In the car he told me he was happy that "I was there to take care of everything" and thanked me.

Yeah, this is why I do it. Even though he can be a huge pain in the ass, he can be stubborn, and selfish, and totally demanding... but he is my blood. I have a very small family. And its moments like this, when he's "on" that I'm so thankful to spend the last few years of my daddy's life with him.

It heals so much of that wounded, abandoned child left in me. Every time I reach out to him when its hard, it breaches a little of that gap that grew when he left. And now my hand is the strong one. And I have forgiven him.

We almost got sideswiped by a semi on the way home. It was a close call. After it was apparent we were safe he looks at me and wryly says with that mischevious twinkle in his eye, "Oh man, if we woulda been mashed up, Ah want you to just take me to the side of the road and shoot me...Ahm done being patched up." And I looked at him, trying to guage his seriousness, and he cracked up again and patted my knee.

Yup, he's doing better. :)

Slice of hell - dumping thee ex bf.

Once you've been abused, you can smell it a mile away. And you get weird to it, and things push you into an ugly place, a place of survival.

Last I heard from him he was sending emails, asking what to do with some stuff of mine, I had stuff of his also. He said he would leave it up to me how to decide to swap it.

I decided to think about it, because I wasn't ready to see him, because it had been confused, even though I knew the end of our relationship and probably our friendship was the right thing to do, it still hurt, I still missed him, and I still wanted him around in some ways. We didn't date that long, but it still sucked. And whenever we would talk via email one of the other one would basically vent about how much it sucked without the other person, and why are we doing this. I knew I personally was too weak to make it stick, because I missed him. And I knew it wasn't right, which is why I broke it off in the first place.

So I was trying to strengthen myself, so when I saw him it would be calm.

After 9 he just shows up. I was in my pajamas, talking to Dave on the computer. He brought the things, I could tell he was upset and had been crying. I thanked him for bringing it, tried to remain as casual as I could. He left. It was weird. But I was grateful for the maturity of the situation.

Within two minutes on my porch he was back, telling me he needed to talk. I hesitated, then I invited him in, I figured it was the least I could do, and I felt bad that he was feeling pain, because I had been there so much in the last two weeks over us. I'd been up and down and all over the place.

He started with apologies, which I accepted, I tried to remain calm. I wasn't comfortable with the amount of emotionality that was happening, but I tried to just chill. He brought up an issue that I didn't blog about (because despite what he thinks I don't blog to hurt him, I blog to DEAL) and expressed regret that he did "one fucking thing wrong". This is where our voices got raised, and I told him I didn't want to argue with him. I told him again and again. And he begged for time. He said "just two minutes" and looked at his watch. I gave him two minutes, which was two minutes of picking apart my personality flaws. It hurt, but I took it. He was standing in my doorway. Then I asked him to leave.

He made excuses.

I asked again.

More excuses.

My voice was raised to a shout, as was his, it was the only way I knew how to communicate that I was serious, that I wanted him out of my life. I couldn't deal with the poisoned relationship we became. I started to panic. It was survival, GET OUT. GET OUT OF MY SPACE. This was about 20 minutes later... he kept saying "just let me talk" not even realizing he had, and that if I gave him three days he would still not be done attacking me.

He left and the phone calls instantly started. There were 9 of them, from different cell phones, between 15 seconds and 3 minutes apart, whether I hit "decline" or if i talked to him and told him to go away. On one phone call I gave him 30 seconds to talk, as he requested, and he chose to argue during that time.

I told him "I do not want to be in a relationship with you. I do not want to talk to you. I do not want to be your friend." I was brutal, and honest. So he would GET IT. Finally, after he wouldn't listen after my repeated requests for him NOT to call me, I was so angry and felt so scared and violated that I shouted "FUCK YOU! GO AWAY! I WILL CALL THE COPS IF YOU CALL ME BACK. DO YOU UNDERSTAND???"

And finally it was enough.

The last time I had to say that was when I left my husband. I hate to have to be cruel. But I had no choice... he wasn't listening.

I don't think that he has the capacity for physical violence. But I felt intruded on, I felt like he wouldn't leave me alone, and this scared me. Because this is how it starts. He says he will do one thing (wait to hear about the "stuff exchange") and then just do another (show up). It's never consistent with him and so I don't trust anything he says to me.

So he probably hates me. But everyone told me to call the cops, have him picked up, he's probably drunk. I didn't know if he was drunk, he smelled like bar. And he finally did stop calling me. They all said I'd be doing him a favor by calling the cops. I don't know. I'm not a mean or selfish person, not all of those mean things he's been saying about me.

Anyway, if he comes back I will contact the police because I am afraid, and I have the cell phone records, as well as three different people as time stamps as to when it happened and how long it lasted

I hate this. I hate that he made me feel this way. I never expected it. And he will blame me me me me because that's what people with no boundaries do. And that's ok. It will be his way of coping.

My way of coping is keeping him the hell away from me. And I will do whatever it takes.

Pair off.

So last night was better than the night before. Only cried once. I figured it out - it was mourning the future that I was thinking was going to happen with him. I have forgotten one of the crucial and very basic Buddhist teachings - BE HERE NOW. It's attachment to the past or the future that causes suffering.

It's hard to balance because I am so monogamous in nature, and my whole life I've just wanted to be part of a family unit. I suppose that's why I stayed with an abusive asshole for four years.
I haven't really admitted this to anyone but I was thinking about it last night before I fell asleep.

The first time he abused me was three days before we left on our wedding trip. I was too scared and embarrassed to tell anyone. Everyone told me I was moving too fast and I was stubborn and wanted to show all of them that they didn't know what they were talking about. He wanted to marry so fast because he knew his mask would slip if we waited any longer. I blamed it on the stress of the planning, I deluded myself.

Hindsight is always 20-20, and even though I didn't pay attention to that little slice of hell I still ended up getting out. He just about destroyed my self-esteem in the process, but I'm reclaiming that, bit by bit.

But I don't think I'm over it yet. I'm not over being used, abused, and taken advantage of. I still hurt from a very deep place. And I think that I was naive in pinning all my hopes on the future, my dream of finally being "taken care of" before I'd really gotten okay with being alone again.

But who does want to be alone? No one does, but I have to learn to at least being comfortable in doing it.

And now BOTH of my parents are here. Yeah, they don't speak or whatever, and now I'm the one caring for my dad. But they are HERE. And I forget that. They moved here to be with ME. They chose this. And yet I always still feel lonely and unloved? It's obviously in my head...I can feel lonely in a room filled with 10,000 people. And I need to knock that shit off, because its destroying my life.

They are pretty much my only family. No brothers/sisters, two uncles (California and Minnesota) and one Grandma (Minnesota) and I barely know any of them. So the three of us (and now thankfully my stepdad, who I adore) are it for me. So of course I want a husband and at least one kid. Who wouldn't? But expecting that when I start to date someone is just stupid, because dating should be about friendship - friendship with chemistry, if you will, and dammit, I'm going to start dating like a normal person when I am ready to date someone. Like, meeting them somewhere, or god forbid having a guy pick me up and take me somewhere and then going home.

But first I need to be friends with people. Because then I can learn to trust people again, in a non-threatening way. And be loved unconditionally by my friends, because that is low-risk. I can have a rewarding social life without having to be part of a "couple". So when I am ready to be half of a couple it is all for the right reasons.

Today I brought the noise.

Got to pick up my dad and he was on one. Demanding I take him to the bank "RIGHT NOW" because he "knows his money is gone." I explained to him that we had to go to the VA for his Neurology appointment, that we can go to the bank afterwards, if we went then we would be late. He proceeded to basically throw a tantrum and I blew. I told him he was damn lucky to have what he has, that I can't help him if he won't trust me, and that I can't be there 24/7 to hold his hand through everything, that school was starting next week and I needed to be able to sleep at night instead of being up stressed. I basically laid it all out without any kind of name calling.

At first he blew back and then by the car ride to the VA was done he was calm. He even was joking with me.

Dr. Davis at the VA - God Bless Her - fresh out of OHSU.... she HELPED US. She had read his file before we got there, instantly sided with me about his level of oxycodone and why its making him nuts, I explained to her about how Home Health never came for his blood draws and how Social Work was dodging my phone calls, and SHE FIXED IT.

She knocked some heads at social work (I have to follow up, but she sent a message to all involved telling them that their continual passing the buck was dangering the health of her patient - which it IS, these draws are necessary to make sure his blood levels are balanced so his blood clot can be absorbed). She instantly cut his Oxy dose back to 4 automatically a day paired with Tylenol for pain control, cut back his Sinemet a bit to see if that helped his mind clear AND... and this is a big AND... she prescribed him a mild anti-psychotic, because it's apparent to her he's suffering from delerium - which unlike severe dementia CAN be reversed, and usually is a result of trauma and drugs that make him loopy...

SHE LISTENED TO ME. AND FIXED IT. And I know she generally was horrified at his new condition compared to how he was a couple of months ago when he was in there joking with her.
I am so writing a good letter about her to the VA to whoever will listen...

Also, his mysterious "side" pain (of which he tried to convince me he was dying) SWITCHED SIDES since last time he was bitching - she examined him anyway, his ribs are fine, she agrees with me its probably pulled muscles from his walker... new muscles being used.

BUT THE CROWNING JEWEL OF IT ALL.

I FINALLY got a POWER OF ATTORNEY done!!! I finally talked him into it!!!

This will make my life so so so SO much easier!!!

So tonight I'm going to go home, eat some yummy dinner from stuff I bought at Whole Foods (I'm thinking FALAFEL!!!), clean, and SLEEP LIKE A BABY knowing I got all of this fixed!!!!

Nearly Postal at the VA.

For days and days and days I've been planning going to the VA to get my dad out of there. I've talked to Social Work every day. They were supposed to have the following equipment ready when I arrived: Wheelchair, Walker, his meds, a shower bench, a raised toilet seat, a weighted wrist cuff to help stabilize his tremors for eating and writing.

I arrive, on time, 15 minutes early actually (I'd always rather be early than late) and he's there, in his wheelchair, with a GIANT and I mean GIANT bag of meds. No walker. No bench. No toilet seat. No cuff. And the night staff has no idea where any of this might be.

They call the one social worker on staff, who isn't familiar with my father. He says "Oh, I'll go look him up in the computer and see what the notes say. Maybe they've got it put away somewhere." I thank him, and we wait. And Wait. And Wait.

45 minutes later, he hasn't returned, I walk down to the nurses station. I ask where he is. "Oh, he's on dinner break. Try the employee lounge."

I'm positively STEAMED at this point, my dad is freaking out, thinking he can't go home, he's nearly in tears, he wants his walker, he wants to go home and thinks he can't.

I knock on the employee lounge, he's in there stuffing his face.

"Hi." he says.

"Hi. I'm Sara, John B....'s daughter. You were supposed to check on some equipment for me?"

"Ohhh, oh yeah. I looked. Nothing. You'll have to call Mike in the morning. Sorry." And back to his sandwich.

So I'm thinking this is just brilliant. He's ready to go home and I have next to no equipment. I decide, fuck it, I'm getting him the hell out of here now.

I take him to the car. There's no one to help me get him in, this is okay, I can manage. I then have to try to figure how the hell to collapse/breakdown his wheelchair, because even though I had arranged for someone to show me how to use his equipment they didn't show up either. I manage to do this, shove it in the trunk, pack the rest of his stuff and get in the car. My dad's so happy he almost is in tears.

"It's so good to see something other than the inside of the hospital. I missed the clouds and the trees." He smiles and is like a little kid, eagerly drinking up the scenery on the way home. I instantly know I made the right decision. I'm racking my brain, trying to think of somewhere that would have enough medical equipment (its like 7:30 at this point) to get us through the night. I decide to ask the people at the Assisted Living when I get there, its their job to know what to do, I'm still learning.

I get there, they are there, just like they promised, just as scheduled. They are positive and tell him they are excited he's home. He's very happy. I pull the night nurse aside and tell her that I'm sorry, the VA effed up, I have no equipment, I couldn't leave him. He's upset there's no walker, he says he wants to walk to breakfast in the morning, not wheel in. Its a pride thing for him. His neighbors saw him walk unaided.

She looks at me and smiles. She says that they lost a resident this week, and while it was sad for that family they donated all of this resident's equipment to the facility for other residents to use. And that we can have it. For free.

She has the kind of walker he needs.

She has a shower bench.

I'm so thankful and grateful I almost cry.

The rest can wait until later.

She says she has to go on her evening med rounds, can I wait and go through his meds with her in an hour or so. Sure, no problem. I unpack him, he asks for a beer and peanuts - this makes me happy, this is my daddy I know. He watches ESPN and drinks a Coors Light.

Around 9 she comes to get me, I grab the huge bag of meds and go to the nurse's station. We sort through it. In the bag is a bottle of 300 Oxycodone. He's slated to take TEN A DAY. No effing WONDER he's been so out of it. We are both shocked - she asks, "Is he just now coming out of his surgery?" I say, no, its been two months. She's also appalled at the dosage. She explains to me that she needs to follow the instructions on this med until she hears otherwise from the hospital, she suggests I call the docs to get permission to cut the dose back or to make it as an as needed basis. He's also on Tylenol for pain. I understand his clot is painful, but I think I've just pinpointed the cause of his "hallucinations and memory problems".

I didn't walk in my apartment until 10:10 last night. My mother, thankfully, came over and let my dog out for me yesterday afternoon.

Fucking bastard VA just drugs these old guys up so they are complacent. ARRGH! I'm so effing mad!

So I've already put a call in this morning, asking about the damn toilet seat and cuff (its really the cuff I'm interested in at this point, I'll go buy a seat if I have to) and why the hell my dad needs 10 oxycodone a day.

It makes me furious how shitty the VA is. My dad fought in the Korean War. He's 100% service connected, which means that his medical problems (technically its his other hip and his arthiritis, not his Parkinson's) are linked directly to his years of service. So no, he doesn't have to pay a dime for medical care. But I don't see how sending someone home with no equipment and major drugs is "medical care". Our veterans deserve better. And my heart breaks for those veterans who just don't have an advocate to check up on them.

I want to write a scathing letter about my experience but I have no idea where to do it. I thought about writing an essay/article and having it published. I have to do something. You can bet this girl will bring the noise. As soon as I get some damn sleep.

Bad news.

Doc called me last night at like 8pm. He's got a DVT - big ass blood clot - in his leg. If he doesn't listen to the docs and tries to get up on his own or whatever the thing could dislodge, move to his lungs and kill him. *sigh*.

I'm going to get in the bath now, then go over there and try to explain the importance of this to him, hopefully he will effin listen.

Last night I cleaned my bathroom, which always fucks my back, then pilled myself up, read magazines in my bed for a couple hours while I listened to Elliott Smith, then fell asleep. Woke up every hour on the hour almost, it was totally weird. But somehow I feel well-rested. Or maybe this is just defeat?

I'm going to hide out again tonight, clean the rest of the apartment, play with my fuzzies, pluck out a few songs on the axe, make something yummy for dinner... Yeah, that's the plan.

Whatevs.

Dad's hip was a success, they say.

Saturday I slept 11 hours. Sunday I slept 9 hours (it was 11, but I subtracted a couple for tossing and turning). How is it I can still be exhausted?

Some advice: Mixing tequila and rum leads to very bad things. Like throwing up. Yeah. Nuff said. So much for my drying out. Going to try this plan again...

Sometimes I just don't know what I want. Honestly. Stress = paralysis in making even the smallest decisions... I know this has to be frustrating to deal with.

Attorney appointment tomorrow. Loose divorce ends. Like making sure I don't get stuck with his thousands of dollars of bills. And how I can ensure he has to stay away from me. I think this has put me on edge and made me more sensitive than usual. I refuse to turn into one of those chicks that wrongly assumes that all men are evil. All I know is that I'm not very good at being loved.