Stress

It’s 2am right now and I cannot sleep because I seem to be severely allergic to my bed, my house, or maybe just stress. Regardless, I was woken up after an hour of sleep by a crying child and after my trek to the second floor to find him sound asleep, my sinuses decided to explode. Again.

This is fairly common for my sinuses, on random odd days they just freak out. It usually happens in the morning though.

So after an hour of blowing my nose in bed and keeping my husband awake I caved and decided sleep was not to be had. I was mentally planning my grandfather’s funeral anyway.

He’s still alive, my beloved grandfather, but not in good shape at the moment. He’s in ICU in Boston after yet another fall and a brain bleed that is causing him some neurological impairment.

After three days and three cat scans I heard from his nurse they were in a conservative, wait and see mode. So I had not hopped on a plane yet. Then this afternoon I heard from his nurse that the neurosurgeon wants to do the crainiotomy to relieve the pressure tomorrow (today actually).

I am beating myself up for not having gone there earlier this week. I’m also beating myself up for not having put up more of a stink before they left to go to Boston for the summer a month ago. This is his second fall and hospital stay since I drove him to the airport and waved goodbye.

I know, I couldn’t have predicted the future. If you ask some rather pessimistic people, all this was inevitable and the worst is upon us. I choose to be rather optimistic, facing each new detail as it arises and making calm decisions one and a time. I suppose I’m very pragmatic. I have spoken to him twice a day for the past four days, and he had been mostly alert and sharp, despite slurred speech, until today.

But not mentally preparing for the worst has led me to this point, where I’m two thousand miles away and can’t get a single freaking doctor to call me back. They say they need my informed consent to do the surgery anyway, and yet nobody calls.

My sister, God bless her, is able to drop everything and get to Boston tomorrow morning. I hadn’t counted on how long and expensive such a last minute trip would be for me. It pretty much takes eight plus hours for me to get there, and when you decide on the afternoon of July 4th to go, you can’t get any flights that night or early enough the next morning to be very helpful.

So she is going and I’ll go on Saturday. Rumor is that drilling holes through your skull is a routine procedure. I’d like to optimistically assume that as soon as they do it, all his slight neuro deficits will disappear and he’ll be back to his old self. Then he can get better and I can demand he and my grandmother get their asses back to Houston where I can adequately be there for them. I did MOVE to Houston for them in the first place.

But the last time he had a routine procedure, an angioplasty, his heart stopped three times. Three times they shocked his body back to life. That was two years ago. He is 92, after all.

So here I am at 2am, mentally walking through what I would do if he doesn’t make it. Having to tell my grandmother who can barely hear and is the queen of denial. Planning a small memorial service at their little church in Boston, and then another larger one here in Houston. Moving her into my house until I can find someplace else for her. Tearing her away from everything she’s ever known and loved. Undertaking the enormous responsibility of managing their finances and caring for two houses.

So yeah…maybe I’m just allergic to stress.

UPDATE:

Thanks so much for all the comments and love both here and on Facebook. My sister arrived there yesterday morning and got a ton of information. They agreed to do a different and simpler procedure without general anesthesia, but still drilling a small hole and draining fluid off his brain. A LOT of blood was drained and he came through with flying colors, even raising his left arm aftewards…something he couldn’t do that morning. We are optimistic but he still has a long road ahead. I will be there tomorrow.