Tag: end of life

Saturday Blog 47

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, depression, mood disorders, suicide

Saturday Blog 47

I have been feeling uneasy all day. I have been contemplating going to the ER for an eval, just for shits and giggles. But seriously, I just want to talk to someone neutral about what is going on and if I truly need to be in the hospital or just continue struggling as an outpatient. I was so torn that I decided to use a crisis hotline text chat to see if they could help. They gave me a support website for groups. I will check it out later. I felt better about talking with them about my father dying and it being hard to deal with. I also been talking about my suicidal urges that have been cropping up the last 24 hours. I just feel like I have to do something and I don’t know what that something is. Waiting for my father to die is not something I am looking forward to. I know it is going to happen but dammit. If I had a time frame, that would be fucking great. Like say he is going to die on x day at this time, then I can plan my hospitalization around that and things would be better. But life doesn’t work like that. I don’t even think my father knows he is dying because he is trying so hard to make it so he can go home. I don’t think he is going to go home, unless he doesn’t get state health care because we can’t afford to keep him in the nursing home at around $100/day.

I got some more Ensure because I was out. I still am not eating regularly. Coffee was my breakfast and a muffin with some fruit was my lunch. I have no idea if I am going to eat dinner. I have no appetite so an Ensure might be my dinner.

I don’t think my sister is going to visit my father today. She is already out and about doing things. She might be too tired to go. I don’t mind not going. I really find it hard seeing my father the way he is. Because his liver is damaged and is continuing to be, his body is producing ammonia more than usual. This is making him confused and sleepy. And he isn’t taking the medication used to bring the ammonia levels down because it’s a thick fluid and I think it tastes gross for him. I don’t know what it tastes like as I don’t have liver problems. Least I hope I never do.

The hard part for me is that I don’t think anybody has told my father that he is dying. I know my sisters haven’t told him and I am sure no medical professional has either. And what kills me is that they are giving him PT and OT to help him go back home when he is getting weaker and weaker. How is he supposed to go home when he is at risk for falling? Just getting him to the bathroom the other day was an ordeal. He almost fell backwards because he lost his balance while pulling up his pants. I just don’t get it. Then he was too tired to do anything else when we got him back to bed. Just changing him to his pajamas was tiring for him. And I think I am tired after taking a shower. The poor guy was ready to pass out he was so exhausted. It really killed me seeing him like this. And I know that it’s only going to get worse with time.

Because of his weakness and fatigue, I don’t think he will be a candidate for surgery for his other problem that he so desperately wants to take care of. And I think he might be dead before the appointment happens. I think I am the only one being the realist in the family about this. Sure we have made plans with the funeral home for his death but since we aren’t sure when he is going to die, it’s just putting more of a burden on us than we realize.

In the meantime, I am struggling with the black dog and suicidal feelings left and right. I know I should be in the hospital if anything for self-care, but I can’t take a chance that my father will die while I am there and it will just break my heart for that to happen. I want to be there when he dies, though I am still hoping he dies in his sleep.

Broken Sleep Sucks

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, depression, mood disorders

Broken Sleep Sucks

I woke up at 0300 today and it sucked. I didn’t have to go to the bathroom nor was I in pain. I just woke up. I didn’t even have a bad dream. I took an Ativan because I wanted to get back to sleep. Within a half hour, I did. It really sucks and then I woke up four hours later. I am going to need coffee soon. I got a fricken headache and it’s really bright outside. I hope I don’t get a migraine.

I am feeling really sad. I feel like I need to talk to someone. I thought about paging my psychiatrist but it’s really early and I don’t want to alarm her. Last night I went through my old address book and found the paging number that I didn’t have in my phone. It was driving me crazy because you get a person when you call rather than just punching numbers in with the other number that I have.

Facebook has this memory thing that shows pictures you posted a few years ago. Today it showed my swollen leg when I was in the hospital four years ago. Funny how things have not changed. My leg is still swollen and no one knows why. I have a lump on my leg. I really want to cut it open some times and let the fluid out. I feel this way when I am in a psychotic state. I guess you can say four years ago is when I started taking the abilify daily rather than PRN. And I can’t mess with the dose because I will become psychotic or delusional. If I miss a dose, I am in trouble. It’s so weird because I never was like this when I was younger. Seems that when I get older the worse my psychotic symptoms became. I am just glad I only need abilify to control the symptoms and an occasional trilafon when I have breakthrough psychosis. I really like trilafon. It is my go to when all else fails. They have changed it over the years. It used to be a gray sugar coated pill. Now it’s just a plain white pill. I used to call it candy so I could trick the voices into taking it. It’s a little bit more difficult to trick them now because there is no sugar coating on the pill.

I am feeling really sad. My sister hasn’t called me yet to ask if I am going to see my father. I really don’t want to see him but I feel that I should. It’s just so hard seeing him so frail. And knowing that it’s just going to get worse makes me even sadder. I think he will die in two weeks time but I could be wrong. He does eat breakfast but won’t eat lunch or dinner because he is full. We have tried to get him to drink Ensure but he is used to the bottle and what they have in the nursing home is a juice box type of container. My father is very particular about things. He won’t take something that is different from what he is used to. We might have to bring in a bottle so maybe he will drink it.

I feel so frustrated because there is nothing that I can do to help him. I really hope that the state health insurance kicks in soon or we are screwed. I am also pissed off because the damn social worker never returned my phone calls. In his voicemail message he says that he returns calls “promptly”. Yea right! I have only been waiting two days. How promptly is that? I hope he calls on Monday even though it is a holiday.

Yesterday was the third anniversary of the Boston bombings of the Boston Marathon. Hard to believe it has been three years since it has happened. There were 264 survivors. Most of them have lost a limb or two because of the injuries they had. I will never forget the people that died that day and the officer that died the following day when the pictures of the suspects were posted. The officer died a needless death. It is so sad. He was a cop in my town and every year a local bakery runs a charity event to honor him.

I am still torn about going to the hospital. I kind of want to get evaluated by the ER and see if they think I should be inpatient or not. I have some suicidal tendencies but they come and go. Last night, I had some urges to kill myself. I distracted and ignored them. I tried to think of other things. I think I watched three episodes of Friends. It helped make me laugh. I love Joey and Rachel. The show is really funny. It really helped to calm my urges. Music also helps. I think I just want someone to make the decision for me as I just can’t decide if I want to go in or not. I plan on bringing a bag of clothes with me just in case it doesn’t go in my favor. Like I think I won’t be admitted because I just want to talk. I will have to conceal my suicidality otherwise I am at risk for admission. I hate lying but sometimes you just have to. I won’t go to the hospital where my psych is. I will go to the local hospital where they know me.

I am preparing a bag but I haven’t put stuff in it yet. I have written out the medication that I take. It’s easier to give them the paper than trying to remember doses and names. I always seem to miss one when I try to recall from memory all that I take. I didn’t put Neurontin down because I only take it PRN. They think I take it three times a day but I don’t. I have been on it for years so I know that taking a dose here and there helps me more than taking it every day. I will write the story I plan on telling in another blog. I really have to be careful with what I say. If they decide to admit me, I am kind of screwed. My father could die and I won’t be there. That will just break my heart.

You’re Leaving left me going crazy

by Midnight Demon, posted in depression, mood disorders

You’re leaving left me going crazy

I thought this title would be fitting as it’s a lyric to the song by Eric Church’s Record Year. I want to get something off my chest. My father is my father and always will be considered that. He is not, however, a dad or daddy or any of that nature. It has been driving me crazy the last few days that people automatically assume that he is a “dad” when he never was. He doesn’t know the meaning of the term. There was no affection between us growing up. No exchange of meaningful gifts. Just abuse and neglect that continues till he got really sick. And he still had the audacity to call me stupid after he was the one that was being stupid. He thought he was speaking English but he was really speaking Italian and expected me to understand. The truth of the matter is that I can understand context of Italian but I don’t know the language well enough to interpret it all. I never learned it from him though he will say that he “tried”. He just didn’t have the patience to teach us kids. And the school taught us the “real” Italian, not the dialect that he speaks.

He will never know that I am a writer. I doubt he ever knew that I wrote a book. I do find this sad in a way but I don’t let it get to me. He never was a supportive parent so why should I expect him to be at his deathbed. All that matters is that he is taken cared of as humanely as possible.