Monday, September 24, 2007

Hole Sweet Hell - Volume 1

“All you can really do is love them during times like this,” were the pretenses that got me down here to deal with my father as he was in the hospital suffering from D.T.s 10 days ago. It wasn't easy but I had a plan on how I was going to deal with this. I borrowed every last dollar I could get my hands on, so that I could get the plane tickets down and hopefully just stay at his house for about 4 days and then get home. After about 3 or so weeks of overtime I would simply get caught up on all of this, and that made a lot of sense. This of course was before the rental car agency wouldn't let me have a car, or before I had found out that my fathers “friends” had ransacked his house and taken everything of his, so what did I really know? This was before I had found out that they were going to keep me from knowing about it all except for the one friend that “accidentally” called me and told me that my father had had a stroke. Bet you're wondering how it went from there? If I only knew.

Walking into the hospital down here I had never seen my father look the way he did. He was orange and tied to the bed, eyes swollen shut, hands and feet curled up, and I still actually had not spoken to a single person who knew what had gone on and they tried to eschew me into his room. I refused until I talked to someone who could tell me what was going on, and little did I know that I wasn't actually going to talk to one of those because nobody really knew what was going on. The one friend of his that had called me had said that she was at his house looking for medications since the thoughts that he was going into D.T.s was part of the equation {even though they really were there to steal all of his things and hide them from me after “they” had found out I was coming, chanting the whole time how I was unemployed, greedy, violent and many other things} and unfortunately that was all the nurse at the time could tell me as well. It was not a good thing and he wasn't with it at all. I had never seen anything like this in my life, and for 3 days he quaked and cried in pain. On the third day he recognized me, and then he forgot who I was, then knew me again and so on and so on. I was told 4 days and so 4 days I waited. On the fifth day he was talking but still wasn't with it and I was told another week.

Each day was getting a bit better. He was talking better, he finally started being able to get up and do things, but at a cost, to me, my soul, my health. It was 4 days ago that I fed him babyfood. I had to clean it all out of his beard as I had once cleaned it out of my kids clothes. It was killing me as I was training my own father how to live as I had once done to my children, but I was telling myself that he was getting better, and this was only steps towards getting him back to normal. That night he was actually feeding himself as 3 year old like as it was but again it was all a part of the growing process. Two days ago when he finally could go to the bathroom on his own was when I hurt my back again as I learned how to clean my father's bottom and put the bed lotion on him. I am fighting through the pain of that but I can honestly say that it has set my own recovery back years and is starting to make the violently angry delusions come back again. This is not a good thing as I find out more and more about his “friends” who have been interfering with me from the shadows. Yesterday I found out about the business that one of them owns and it takes everything in me not to go and confront his inbred ass where he can't hide from me. That's neither here nor there as the tale goes back a couple of days now.

With recovery comes the ability to also sabotage in different ways. While he was recovering they had to tie him up because he would keep attempting to tear out his tubes and his probes, as well as try to get out of bed despite his lack of abilities. He hadn't been to a doctor in over 30 years and there is a stubborn side of this man that can't be controlled at all. The illusions of his heightened abilities {to talk to walk to think perhaps} were coming to me full circle but I refused to acknowledge the obvious as he has been living in 1971 for the last few days, and even his memories of that aren't too great. Physically I am exhausted through the last 10 days of dealing with my new child, but mentally I am more than exhausted, I am dead, and am worried that I may never come back from this completely, because I am so jaded by it all, and have hate in my heart that grows everyday I am in this area away from my own family surrounded by the biggest collection of scum since the Roman Empire.

It was without ability that I was simply holding on for the next day no matter what happened in the hopes that I could simply get him better. Wait for him to get his wits about him and then we could go back to New Hampshire, where I never thought I would want to be until I saw what shit lives down south here. I finally did find out who the mastermind behind the theft of all of my father's things, and he happened to be the person that still has things now {liquor and porn that he guarded of course} and now he is conveniently the one that is in Georgia {guess they don't have a shortage of rotten human beings either} and everyone here is innocent. Yeah Right. Unfortunately it was yesterday that I learned a dirty little secret about the recovery process when I went to get lunch. I was gone for 20 minutes as I waited in line at Barnes and Noble for a salami sandwich and a coffee. It isn't much but it was {and trust me was} the one piece of sanity that I had as I went and looked at healthy people, got my ice coffee and picked up a magazine, but back at the hospital, the “sick” person had been plotting all day and I never saw it coming.

The door to his room was closed, and I found it rather curious. He had promised me that he would call for a nurse if he was to get out of that chair and I didn't even comprehend that his newly evolving mind would conspire with the sick mind that had poisoned him for the last week and a half to do what he wanted, and not what was good for him. I opened the door and he was laying in bed totally naked. At first I made the smart ass comment asking him if he was comfortable, and then I saw the wall on the other side of the room. The streak of blood looked like something out of a horror movie and the bloody footprints leading to it as my vision came backwards was almost enough to put me over the edge, but as I took 3 steps forward and saw that there was a very large pool of blood next to the bed, and the sheets were soaked was when after all of this time I finally did what I imagine is normal under these circumstances, and snapped. I didn't even know what else was waiting for me. The bathroom walls were all covered in blood, and that kinda removed the cold water option that I was looking for. All of his wires and the pick that had been in his arm for his injections and his meds was on the floor, his vein torn wide open from pulling it out sideways.

I'm pretty sure I was in shock when I walked out into the nurses station. The one nurse told me that I was as white as a ghost as I had said to her “The reason I told you that I was going to lunch was because he can't be trusted alone,” they didn't understand until I said, “The room is covered in blood and he has lost over a pint,” but it was good that I wasn't the only person who was panicked at this point. You see another problem I find with every facet of this third world hell hole known as Florida is that people are too stupid to log things properly, and as my father has been walked from one room to another, nobody keeps notes on what is going on. It's like the bullshit I have gone through with the car rental place that has now made me an official car thief. Oh well they will get it back when i am done with it because I am sick of it all around here and if the people at the rental car place were too stupid to log my phone calls in the computer when I called each day then I am simply sorry that I called each day. My biggest concern right now is that my father has now gone past the point where it is acceptable to not know shit and he doesn't know shit. I had to explain to him again this morning where he was and how he got there, but decided to get a little sneakier about it and ask him who the president was.
This has been the issue I approached earlier, as he is lost in the seventies and I really was too young to join in the conversations. Giving him the hint that he voted for the president twice, he immediately said Carter {and now I am ashamed that my father voted for Carter} and his second guess was Nixon. This is not simply that American apathy thing either as this man is very political and has never in his life missed an opportunity to vote, so when he asked if Reagan was a good president when we did the walk back, I can honestly say that I was terrified. The Psychologist met with him and told him that he was just forgetful and then told me {of course because this has been the story of my fucking life in Florida} that it is none of my business what his diagnosis is. This basically means that I will be carrying an undiagnosed time bomb back to New Hampshire with me and it's simply tuff shit.

I finally got the notary to come and notarize the note telling the garage that towed his truck, that I could claim the thing {you have no rights Jeremy remember?} and went to get the truck in hopes that I could use it and get the rental car back. To this day the police, the garage, and every last person around her has told me FUCKING NOTHING about the accident, and the only recounts that I have had have been from a man that was strapped to a bed for 5 days. His stories made some sense when you translated them a bit, but they went along the lines of this. “The accelerator got stuck” {translation – I am old and I had my foot on the gas but thought it was the brake} “Then I was speeding towards the construction” {substantiated with my own eyes that there was a construction zone there} “I spun it out across the road so that I could avoid it” {ok fine, that works} “and ended up in the ditch” {ok fine, acceptable} “then the fire department showed up and beat me up and arrested me” {translation – I was in shock and going through the D.T.s so the fire department strapped me to a gurney and put me on the ambulance} “and then I woke up here” {you sure did dad} and that is the extent of what I had, until today when I finally was allowed to talk to the towing company who was on the scene.

Again I suffer from not being from a hell hole, and I don't understand the topography of Florida, so I assumed that the truck probably had a dented front end, and I could start it up and drive it away. They encouraged me to try it but told me that the truck was submersed. That's the thing that I never considered around here, but they don't have “ditches” here, but they have swamps along all of the roads, and when he ditched the truck, it was in the swamp, and it is the American equivalent of quicksand. Hit truck was sinking and he was in it, had there not been fire crew and police right there he would have drowned and that horror didn't really sink in until I got into his year old truck, with the entire interior covered in moldy fuzz. I still tried the key and got nothing, and started crying because it really is too much for me, and nothing is going to change that. I had the truck towed to his house and parked in the driveway, where the criminals here can try to steal it with the bashed out window, mold, and dead engine for all I give a shit, and then went back to the hospital. I contacted my uncle and asked him to do something about getting the house watched by someone but otherwise, I just don't care.

Back at the hospital, I asked my father who the president was, and he was still stuck on Carter. He wanted to know why everyone was asking him about the presidents, and I simply told him that I think he has Alzheimer's. I told him that he needs to see a doctor monthly or he can't get on his heart medication {enlarged heart and he needs real blood thinners, not just aspirin and the doctor already told him that they don't want to give it to him because it is more dangerous to be on it if he won't see a doctor} and I will help him with all of this. He said it was a load off of his mind because he was worried about that himself, and he genuinely promised to get and keep a doctor back home. I then told him the story of what happened the last week, and he listened. I have no idea if he retained, but he listened.