My Dad is so sick.
He's got an infection (they think). Fever. Knee pain. Blood clots in his lungs. He's delirious and hallucinating.
I am doing my best to cope. I ugly cried for an hour the other day. Heaving and braying sobs. I recovered with sleep and swimming.
But goddamn it is hard. It's so hard to see my clever and witty father not be able to follow the conversation because he's distracted by the giant head in the doorway. Because he's trying to figure out how many spiders the nurse slipped into his water. Because his bird's nest has too much shit in it.
He's so weak. He can't stand.
The doctors were really attentive at first. But now... I mean, give me some damn answers. I got in their face the other day so they ordered a ct of his head, but that's not going to show shit.
He might be transfered today to a more local hospital, which would be nice. I'm hoping the nurses would actually come when requested so he could take a damn pee.
I'm so so so worried that my dad isn't going to come back all the way. It's so terrifying.