One week

The last five days have been surreal. At the end of a very long week, I look back and it seems to have flown by. Looking back on the week, it's a mishmash of events -- some hilarious, some chilling -- each clear in my mind and yet lacking clarity at the same time. I think the truth is that I am a little numb, so perhaps it's a coping mechanism?

I think that my Pop is dying. Not in the way that we are all dying slowly; but quickly, painfully. Last Thursday (I think -- my mental time-line is a little sketchy) he was admitted to hospital with stomach pains and trouble breathing. He had a fall recently. Since then he has been very frail. He has always had the usual aches and pains that come with being elderly, but this was something more. Blood tests were done and it was found he was very anaemic and dehydrated. They did something to help stave off anaemia (although I forget what) and had him on a saline drip for the dehydration.

Dad, Sister and I went to see him on Sunday.
He looked ok, considering. They had sat him up in the chair next to bed, which I thought was cruel. I could see he was uncomfortable. When we got there he was being fed by the man in the bed next to him -- Clarry -- presumably because the nurses were too busy. At one point I went to get a box of tissues from the nurses' station, walking through the ward of elderly patients; it broke my heart. As I walked back to the room I heard an anguished (yet quiet) "Help me! Someone help me up! Help me up!" from a small woman who was lying half on her side in the room I was walking past. Her face was full of terror. I called out to a nurse, sending them to her. I thought "how could anyone get better in this environment?" Pop was smiling and laughing in between the cringes from the pain of sitting up.

A tree was struck by lightening on Monday, starting a bushfire.
The fire wasn't too close to my house, but it was close enough to put us on alert. I don't remember anything about Monday, except working on the journal that I'm assistant-editing. More important memories have wiped Monday from my mind completely. I only know about the lightning because I was told that was what happened. Liz told me her sister had heard it was heading our way. I only know this because I re-read out chat history.

There was smoke everywhere on Tuesday.
It was bloody hot too. Wonderful fire weather, if you're a fire that is, not so great for the ones trying to fight it. I was woken up at 9am by Sister, on orders from Mum (who was already at work by this point) because she didn't want me to be asleep if/when the fire came. I was not impressed. I kept working on the journal, presumably. I don't remember anything else.

Burnt leaves rained down on Wednesday.
At lunchtime it was stinking hot, very smokey, and the fire was getting closer. I got up on the ladder and blocked all the downpipes with socks filled with dirt. It is surprisingly hard to fill a sock with dirt and stuff it down a downpipe! Then I got up and filled the gutters with water. It took forever and I got very impatient. It was hot, smokey and I just wanted to sleep.

Thursday was one of the saddest days of my life.
I spent the morning working on the journal and other bits and pieces. Mum and Dad were both home from work early so we all sat down and watched Hoodwinked. After the movie I was on the phone to a work friend, explaining some things as she is new to the job. I heard the call-waiting tone. Thankfully we have caller ID so I looked and the screen said "PAYPHONE". I put the friend on hold and said hello. It was my Aunt. I asked how she was, she said good, but Pop wasn't doing so well. I quickly took the phone to Dad and waited, listening to the one-side conversation. He said I'll come right down, I'll be there in an hour. I knew it was serious. When I got the phone back I finished up with my friend and told Dad I was coming with him. He said ok, let's go.

We got to the hospital and walked into his shared room. He was lying down this time, thankfully, and looked pale. "So this is what a death-bed looks like" I thought. I felt horribly guilty for thinking such a thing, but only for a second: there's no guilt in thinking the obvious. He was a little disoriented, but still smiling his wry smile that I love. There was no saline drip -- they took it away because the fluid was leaking into his lungs and feet (which, I'm told, is a classic symptom of congenital heart failure). Without enough fluid, his kidneys will stop working; with fluid, his lungs would fill up. It's a catch 22. He has pneumonia an oxygen tube to his nose. He can't walk to the toilet so he has a colostomy bag. It was so sad. He said it feels weird just pissing in bed, like it's improper. He laughed though. He kept asking what the thing on his nose was, the thing delivering the oxygen. My aunt told him its to help him breathe and he said, I know that, but what's it called. No one knew. I told him I'd google it for him.

Friday I'm numb
I got up this morning and tried to google the nose thingy. Sadly, googling "nose thingy" doesn't get you very far. Luckily one of my mates did an EMT course (something to do with Ambulances in the US, we call them something else here) and he told me it's a "nasal cannula". I quickly called Dad at work and told him. If Dad has time he'll come home before going to to the hospital, even though home is in the opposite direction. I hope I can go. I'm so fucking tired. I don't know if I can last that long though, so I don't know if I should go or not. I want to tell him it's a nasal cannula.

Tia just called to see how he is. Just now, after I'd finished that paragraph. I told her the story, she said she's very sorry and sent her love to my Dad. She asked me if he knows the Lord. That made me feel even worse. I usually love talking to Tia, we just click, but today I wanted to tell her to shut the fuck up and hang up on her.

I miss him already.