putting the dys in dysfunctional

Any of you loyal readers, like really loyal longtime readers, might remember when I wrote about my Dad last fall and the heart trouble he was having. I never elaborated on the results of his angioplasty, or our visit that weekend, because I often close myself off from things when they become overwhelming. It's comfortable for me. It's why bulimics binge until they're going to puke and then do puke (did that merry go round off and on for 12 years- total waste of money and yummy sweets), or anorexics starve themselves skeletal or alcoholics drink. Self medication can be a wonderful way of sticking your head in the sand when life becomes emotionally overwhelming. When we had visited my Dad back in October my Aunt wouldn't even open the door to see us. My Aunt has never seen my children. While I knocked on the door to the one bedroom apartment, in a run down building in a run down city, Cleveland, where my Dad has been living with her for 5 and a half years, there was no answer. Toby started to swell with anger, rightfully so, thinking we had driven 2 1/2 hours to see my Dad and he wasn't even at home. We called him on his cell and he met us out in the front yard where he ranted about his sister being terrible and how poorly he'd been treated by her during his health crisis. My Dad being who he is, I can never know just what the truth is. And, hey, if I had siblings I don't know that I'd let one live in my tiny one bedroom with me for five plus years. Suffice it to say that weekend had it's ups, seeing my Dad and taking the kids to the children's museum, and downs, spending the majority of the weekend in our cramped hotel suite watching cable tv and waiting for Oona to collapse from exhaustion.

My father's heart trouble turned out to be dilated cardiomyopathy, which is associated with alcoholism. But the medication he was taking was improving his condition. He was out to see us for a long weekend at the end of February, when I finally gave him his Christmas gifts, which was better than last year when we didn't see him for close to nine months, and seemed to be doing well. So imagine my surprise when I find out the call Toby took before dinner last night was my aunt letting Toby know that my Dad has been in the hospital for the past week because he's had a bad cough and has lost a lot of weight since we saw him. At that point I was feeling like, I'm never going to fit into the adult world because I constantly feel immature. I process things like a teenager, although, believe me, my pores and sagging jowls are telling me otherwise. I was overwhelmed to the point that I wanted to run up to my bedroom, slam the door and sulk, very teen angst. Sadness, for my Dad's condition, frustration, because my Dad thinks it's better not to worry me with pressing details like he's been in the hospital for a week and never even let me know he wasn't feeling well and a lot of anger, at my Dad. Oh yeah, I was angry at myself too and feeling very guilty. I should have called him earlier. I should have known about this.

I got my Dad's version of things on the phone when I talked to him that evening. I asked him to have his GP call me, if he was okay with that, so I could get a better sense of what was going on. My Dad's version is the optimistic, chain-smoking, alcoholic's version. It doesn't look like cancer, I haven't drank for six months now and haven't smoked for a month or so now (neither of which I believe) so I think it's just some infection that I'll beat and come out stronger than ever. I am dumbfounded by this hope, is he just saying it to allay my fears or his own or is he truly deluded enough to believe what he's saying? I spoke with his doctor this morning who told me that they couldn't get the results they wanted from the bronchoscopy due to bleeding (Dad's version - bronchoscopy results showed no cancer), he had a pet scan that lit up in his lungs (Dad tells me he lit up everywhere indicating some systemic type infection), he's responding well to the antibiotics which is good. He probably has an infection but they want to due a biopsy given his history of smoking and the sudden weight loss are indicative of lung cancer. I said to the doctor, 'You know that he's also an alcoholic. I know that can increase your chance of cancer. He hasn't lived a healthy lifestyle.' He responds that they know he hasn't been leading a healthy lifestyle. I feel awful, like I've exposed my Dad and really, is it useful to school the doctor on increased risk of cancer in alcoholics? But I want them to know the truth about him and what they're dealing with. I am not good at many things. I am not outgoing or optimistic. I am extremely judgmental. I have very few friends. But I am loyal and honest and however fucked up my family is I know the importance of being there when someone needs help. It's why I wanted my Grandma here in Pittsburgh and why I get so angry at my aunts and, to a certain extent, my Mom with they way they treat her. It's why I feel so bad learning things late about my Dad, there's a very helpless feeling when dealing with an addict, and wondering how much time he has left.