I’ll warn you up front. This is a combination rant/"My space" posting. I am in full depression mode right now, and need to write. It’s the only thing that will keep me from going completely off the deep end...
Go back a decade. I was in my mid-twenties, just graduated from law school. Ready to start my career. I was living with my mom—long story short: my parents got divorced when I was a teenager. Ugly divorce. My dad disappeared—I didn’t talk to him for almost nine years—one of the unbearable regrets I will live with for the rest of my life. More on that later. My siblings and I all lived with my mom, worked at menial jobs to help my mom pay the mortgage. We lost our home anyway, but we managed, because we were together, that’s all that mattered. But I will never ever forget seeing my mom full of fear, crying, wondering where she would find a place we could afford where all of us (me, my mom, my sister and my two young brothers) could live. It broke my heart and is seared into my memory for all time.
We were all struggling along, and one night, one terrible, awful, night, I arrive home to a fire truck and ambulance in my driveway. I rush inside to see the paramedics tending to my sweet, wonderful mom. I scream and run to her side. She has "the worst headache of her life." My brother and I take her to the hospital. Blood on the brain. They’ll do more tests in the morning. My mom says to me "go home and get some sleep...I’m not going to die overnight." I don’t realize how serious my mom’s situation is, and I leave my mom there, alone, in that cold, scary intensive care unit and go home to get some sleep. Another regret I will take to my grave. My mom must have felt so alone, so scared throughout that night.
I arrive at the hospital early the next morning and the doctors are wheeling my mom in to get a CT scan. My mom is still responsive at this point and as she is wheeled by, I tell her I love her. Waiting in the waiting room and the neurosurgeon comes in and says "your mom has an aneurysm and an AVM and she bled during the scan; she is now unresponsive. We’ll do what we can, but we need permission to evacuate the blood—this will not solve the problem, but will save her life...for now."
As she is wheeled to the operating room, I fall to my knees, screaming "no, no, no, no no." The pain of that memory is still so hard. That moment was the end of my life as I knew it.
That heroic doctor that day did indeed save my mom’s life, and for that I am so grateful. But my mom was later transferred to another hospital with the supposed capability of dealing with the AVM ( a cluster of blood vessels in the brain that should not be there, with a propensity to bleed).
At the next hospital, my mom slowly emerged from a drug induced coma and recovered to almost back to her old self. But the doctors there said she needed to have the AVM corrected or she could risk another bleed. We allowed the procedure to go forward.. The day of her brain surgery, my mom was so scared. She was in tears. I was just excited for her to get the problem fixed so we would move forward with this nightmare behind us.
The day of the surgery, we went with my mom to the operating room. It was cold, and sterile. I gave my mom a hug and said "goodbye" then quickly said "I’ll see you in a couple of hours." My mom hugged me back. It’s the last hug I ever received from my mom.
My sister and I went down to the hospital chapel. I said to her "I think it’ll all work out ok. I mean, God let her recover from the first bleed, why would he do that and then let something happen to her again." As I prayed in that chapel for God to guide the doctor’s hands during my mom’s surgery, I felt happy. I couldn’t wait until my mom was healed and we could all go home again and just live, be happy.
My sister and I just got back to the waiting room and we hear a STAT call for my mom’s neurosurgeon. Oh my God. Oh my God, No. Fuck NO. Fuck you God. Fuck you. My entire family rush down the hall to find out what is going on. Chaos. Then my mom’s doctor comes out, grim, and tells us my mom had a massive bleed. That was the day I lost my religion. I lost all faith in God. My poor, poor mom. She was only 49 when this happened to her. 49 fucking years old. Jesus Christ. Why? Why her?
Since that day ten years ago, the end of my life, really, my mom has slowly recovered some function. But she still needs care 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Which my sister and I have provided ourselves since the very first day we brought my mom back home. I quit my job at the law firm I was working at so that I could help take care of my sweet mom.
A few months after bringing my mom home, I was up late at night and the phone rang. It was my dad, who I hadn’t seen or talked to in probably seven or eight years. In fact, when I answered the phone, he said "this is Steve,"rather than saying "it’s your dad." Anyway, he had heard that something happened to my mom, and he wondered if he could do anything to help. I told him there was nothing anyone could do. He thought I was just placating him, and that I just didn’t want HIS help. We hung up. A few minutes later I called him back and asked if he would have lunch with me. He wanted to meet the next day. I said it would have to wait until the following week, as I had too many other things going on. I can’t remember if I said I would call him, or that he should call me. It’s something that eats at me to this day. Was my dad waiting for me to call him? I’ll never know the answer to that question.
The following week, I planned to call my dad on Wednesday to set up a time for lunch. I was very excited. But Tuesday morning, I get a call that my dad had passed away. The pain was unbearable, still is to this day. If only I had called him sooner. If only....
My dad was 51 when he died. He died thinking that I hated him. I still, to this day, think that he was waiting that whole week or so for me to call him to set up a time to meet for lunch. It’s a pain that sears through me every day. Why didn’t I call him sooner. Maybe if I had, he would still be alive today?
My mom has been bedridden with a severe brain injury for over ten years, due to a doctor’s negligence. Yet, Bush and his cronies have made it almost impossible for victims to obtain any sort of recovery from these doctors—saying that people shouldn’t be able to sue doctors to "win the lottery." I can tell you right now, my mom does not think she has "won the lottery." Ridiculous. I, for one, would give anything, ANYTHING, to have my mom back. To be able to have a conversation with her, to laugh with her, to tell her I love her and KNOW that she hears me and understand me. NO, my mom did not win the fucking lottery, Bush. Fuck you. And if you hadn’t put a halt to stem cell research, maybe there would be a treatment that could help my mom by now.
Back to my dad. My dad died at the age of 51 of a massive heart attack. He was down on his luck at the time, and, in order to make ends meet, he was cutting back on his asthma medication. As a result, he had a severe asthma attack which led to his heart attack. I would give anything to have my dad back. I would break my back working several jobs if need be, so my dad could pay for the medicine he needed. But I don’t have that chance. My dad is gone, forever. His life cut down at 51. Again, God, why him? Why? Sure, he made mistakes in his life, but who hasn’t? He, along with my mom, gave me and my sister and brothers the best childhood a person good ever dream of. My dad took us kids everywhere—to college football games, on vacations to exotic places, water skiing, you name it. But more importantly, he was always, always at every single event of mine, my sister’s or my brothers’. He and my mom were always there, supporting us and cheering us on. I love my parents and I will never, ever understand why their lives were cut short so early. It kills me, it eats me up inside every day. I basically just exist in my life now. There is no happiness. I’ve lost too much.
Fast forward to today. My sister and I still care for our dear mom. It’s getting more and more difficult all the time. The cost of the medical supplies she needs go up all the time, while her insurance covers next to nothing. To add insult to injury—her insurance premium is an astounding $600 per month, and is scheduled to go up again in January.
I am just so depressed. If Obama does not win, I really don’t know what I will do. How do insurance companies get away with such outrageous premiums?
I desperately miss my mom and my dad. They meant the world to me. My mom is still here with me, which I am very thankful for. But she is not the same. I miss the mom I could talk to, laugh with. I am just so devastated, it’s hard to get through each day.
The moral of my story is this—please, please, please...live every day to the fullest. Tell everyone close to you how much you love them—and tell them often. Treat each other with kindness and respect. Cherish each day. Do not hold on to grudges—you will live to regret it and it will ruin you.