This Body is Bullshit

It’s been one of those weeks and it’s only Tuesday.

Sunday evening my dad fell while out walking George. Couldn’t get himself up. Kathy tracked him down after he’d been gone too long and called me to come help. By the time I got there, the fire marshal who lives in their neighborhood had already shown up. He knew exactly what to do. He helped us get my dad back to the house and all the way up to the third floor so we could get him settled and ready for bed. I don’t know what we would have done without him that night. Sometimes the right person just shows up.

Then yesterday was his neurology follow-up at Northwestern. The appointment itself was — eventful.

Northwestern is massive and my dad can barely walk, even though he was absolutely set on doing so. The wheelchair conversation started the second we arrived. He fought it. Of course he did — this is the man who wore cowboy boots to a protest because he thought they made him taller. But somewhere along the way he came around, and by the end he actually liked it. I’ll take every small win I can get.

Inside the office he said some not so kind things about the receptionist and others in the waiting room — thinking he was whispering, but he very much was not. Which is exactly like his farts. He does not care who hears those either. At one point the doctor asked me to take him out to the waiting room because he would not stop talking. Which, if you know my dad, is not shocking. I couldn’t help laughing a little and also hope the doctor doesn’t think I’m the same way.

On the bright side, while we were waiting at Northwestern two gentlemen walked past me and said oh, you’re pretty. So the day wasn’t a total loss.

I didn’t get to ask everything I wanted to ask. My brain has really been mush lately and I forgot half of what I meant to bring up. It’s scary sometimes — the forgetting, the fog. But my oncologist has assured me it’s normal given my medications, menopause, and the amount of anesthesia my body has been through. Matt mentioned not too long ago that he’s noticed a change in me since my surgeries. That landed harder than I expected. But I believe it. I feel it.

Ken had come down yesterday too for an overnight because he had a morning doctor appointment of his own. So last night it was Ken, my dad, Kathy, Matt, and me — all together, just hanging out. Matt had worked overnight Sunday and was running on nothing, so all he wanted to do was go to bed, bless his heart. But it was actually really nice to have everyone there. I was glad Ken was around. Tomorrow is his and my mom’s anniversary. I didn’t say anything about it out loud but I felt it, and I’m glad he was here.

Kathy is coming around, and I can’t overstate how much that means. She’s been fighting it — not wanting to change her life, not wanting to fully acknowledge what’s happening — and I cannot blame her for one second. This might actually be harder on her than on anyone. She lives inside it every single day. But things are shifting. We finally got the guns out of their house this week. They’re at ours now. Between our guns and theirs, Matt and I are staring down an impressive collection of shotguns and rifles and feeling very ready for whatever purge situation may come our way. We did not expect this chapter of our lives to include a small armory, but here we are.

Friday I picked my dad up and spent a few hours with him while Kathy went to get her nails done, do a little shopping, and take herself out for a couple of drinks. She deserved every single second of it. My dad kept asking me to call her. I kept telling him she was busy. I was not about to interrupt that woman’s afternoon. And then I gave in. I felt bad. That’s the thing about him — even through all of this, he just wants to know she’s okay. He loves her so much it’s almost unbearable to watch sometimes.

The past few days have also been full of things stopping me mid-scroll. Posts about being kind, being a good person. Things that remind me of my mom. Cancer posts — some about real advances that give me hope, some that stir up memories I wasn’t ready to revisit. Things about dementia that hit too close. The internet this week felt personal in ways I wasn’t expecting. And still I keep sharing everything — probably annoying people. I can’t help it.

And then today. Today I got to send my annual message to supervisors to help remind associates about not leaving poop in or on the toilet. Third or fourth year in a row. I would like to think after however many years of doing this job I would have graduated past this particular communication, but apparently not. Truly living the dream over here.

Mother’s Day is this weekend. I’m spending Saturday with Grace down by her apartment, which I’m really looking forward to. Sunday we’re meeting a potential caregiver for my dad — which feels both hopeful and heavy in the way that most things do right now. But it’ll be at Drew’s house, so everyone will get to see him, and I’ll get to give his saint of a mother a proper Mother’s Day hug. That part I’m not dreading at all.

Tomorrow is also Gus’s birthday. I will always miss that dog. Every single year, I will always miss him.