sitrep/20231026

I've cut my working hours down to one early morning stare / type session, (more/less) from the time I awaken at 0445 until 0715, replacing (temporarily, probably – though I do like how knowing that this is all I get each day lights a fire under my ass) the second chunk of work with reading and, as has been the wont of late, nodding off. Helps prepare me for the afternoon of visiting and death prep. My greatest fear in all of this being that I'll run out of prep before he runs out of breath. Not big on familial / communal sharing of grief: prefer to process it by myself (in the car ride or in the journal) or, as has been the case in this latest round of familial dying off, project-managing each and every decision and wearing the weight of it on my shoulders.

(I HAVE THE POWER (of attorney).)

His brain fog is foggier by the day; hoping that he doesn't have to deal with it much longer – I know it pisses him off – but he remains, for the most part, lucid (though less himself), the last month+ being not a sudden decline but the final act of a decline that's been in process for the last few years, at least since his sister and brother died in 2020, and certainly since my mother last year.

Chorus from Dylan's Mississippi ringing in my ears: "Got nothing for you / had nothing before / don't even have anything for myself anymore..."

SitRep/20231023

Sent a quick (ok, not so quick as my editing skills are nonexistent at present) follow-up newsletter to subscribers with an update (and thank you) on the current situation. Recording a bit of it here, for my own reference (and remembrance).

“As for my grandfather, he's still kicking - in spite of having a second massive heart attack which should have killed him on Saturday evening – and I'm working with an amazing hospice team to make his final days as comfortable and pain-free as possible. This was my first time working with them: I had set it up for my mother, but we determined it was too risky to move her – fortunately, one of the hospital nurses had worked as a hospice nurse and knew how to handle it. Their work is truly amazing: two hours after I signed the papers, his room at assisted living was converted to a full suite with hospital bed and everything and we had him back there from the hospital. He was pleased to get back – and with the throngs of visitors who came to see him.

Today, I'll make the calls to cancel all future follow-ups and dialysis appointments. Once those treatments stop, he'll have anywhere from a few hours to a few weeks, visiting friends, loved ones, and able to simply drift away, painlessly; he's earned his rest after 96 great years and one hellish month of 97 and, at this point, it's the best gift I can give him. Profound relief on all fronts.

As for me, the combo of no sleep and T1D wave-riding has kicked my ass. Hopeful that I can start to build myself back up in the coming days. But it has given me deeper empathy for his mindset and situation: if the last four days did this to me, I can only imagine what it did to his system – and he's got 55 years, borked kidneys, heart, bladder, and three tubes (one of which got torn out on Thursday evening, which overwhelmed his system and led to this endgame) on me….”

the unfuckening, day 19

Slowly acclimating to the (latest) new normal or, rather, finding way to one: everyone – nursing, family, me – learning the ropes and riding the waves of the embarrassing and enraging state of rural healthcare, a situation where I'm both too far away and too close (in distance and) to make anything resembling a useful availability. Moments of presence have to be balanced with moments of trust – ignoring nurse's orders and doing your own thing and falling as a result not conducive to formation of the latter – and I'm learning both.

It's been so long since my own discharge from the hospital that I forgot the shock to the system of going from professional competence to surviving on your own (when I left, a newly-minted T1D, hospital docs had forgotten to prescribe needles for my Novolog pens which made my first dinner outside of the hospital more than a bit vexing). Not quite in that situation, but it is similar but at least I've learned how to flush and drain nephrostomy bags.

Cancelled ink therapy appointment as the situation remains too fluid (ha) and in a state of flux for me to sit in a chair for hours and revel in the reinvigoration of my brain via conversation with friendly tattoo genius but thenagain here I am writing, so it seems that notion one won out so as Carl said in Caddyshack, I've got that going for me, which is nice.

Oh, day ahead, what surprises do you have in store?

sitrep/20230930

Tomorrow's newsletter's written, the first Shard (weekly 100-word microfictions exclusive to subscribers) done. Next: deciding whether or not to continue the "I am the voice in your head" editions of the NL: while it's not a ton of effort, it does impact how long I can work on the writing, so I'm still weighing that one. A lot depends on how my voice is doing in the morning.

MainFictionThing remains at a standstill but I'm chipping away at the brick wall in front of it, a little light peeking through. I think I see what I'm trying to see which is maybe what it wants me to see?

Grandfather on road to recovery, out of hospital and in his (rather swanky) resort/transitional care. Fridge stocked with Ginger Ale, football on the TV. He's set.

The hanger is real: multi-grain cheerios and a shot of bourbon do not an excellent dinner make.

Compiling a list of times I haven't felt a pervasive emptiness in the last 14 years and it's rather paltry and I don't know what to do with that other than state it for the public to myself record.

unsilence

As the waves of The Unfuckening have leveled off to calmer waters of promising I appear – if this morning is more than the exception – to have regained my ability to listen to music while working (Radigue's L'ILLE RESONANTE and Colin Stetson's score to THE MENU FTW) and, while I'm not discounting the potential that it will all fall apart again, I will gladly accept the tiny victory – no matter how fleeting.

Also: my main social/fedi posting app, Linky, has updated to allow crossposting to both Mastodon and Bluesky so now I can take an even more hands-off approach to the latter more in line with its current value.

The day ahead: food, weights, boxing, more words, yoga, more food, hospital/visit, potential annoyance, more or less in that order.

the unfuckening, day ten

Holding pattern continues as general and pervasive exhaustion settles in for the long haul upon my person and brings with it the unwelcome plus one of flaring BPD made more so because I'm too exhausted to keep myself in check but happily happy pills are holding their own and keeping the worst of flare-up proclivities at a corporeal minimum, mental being another story, though the day away has helped reestablish my self-policing abilities and, while I’ve little interest in work or anything similar my favorite part of the hospital's chiptune Minuet in G hold music is when it cuts out for half a second and sounds like there's some epic profanity being bleeped out.

silence

Appear to be in a phase where I prefer working in silence – even ambient is proving too much and, when I’m watching something, I prefer silent films. Maybe I'm listening for the staccato vibration with the next bit of unfuckening news and can't bring myself to turn on an alert tone because they all offend my delicate ears or maybe I'm just too bloody tired to compartmentalize my brain into listening and creating or maybe I'm out of patience with the fussy and pissy Wi-Fi connection between phone and Homepod (efforts to bring the turntable and vinyl back here have yet to bear fruit), IDK – but something has shifted: going to roll with it, however it plays out. Only EarBliss at present is silence.

the unfuckening, day five

Amused by hospital's chiptune hold music yet mortified that I can't name said tune though I know it's one of those annoying warhorse earworms from the last 500 years that's on every calming baby album but I can't place it. Probably Mozart since it grates on my nerves.

The unfuckening of my grandfather's medical situation continues (97-year-old more fit than most 60-70 year olds but nonetheless possessed of 97-year-old internal organs), numbers moving in right direction, from stomach to heart, bit by bit – hospitals being hell for (recovering, ha) control freaks: beholden to the schedule of another and the schedules of the lives and deaths of floors upon floors of (an)others.

But hey: taking the opportunity of daily hospital visits to commence a re-read of Montaigne's Essays. Fortunately, after 10 years of hospital visits, I learned that hospital visits were what a Kindle was made for; it only took me nine years and many funerals to buy one (better late than never) Also: audiobook of Gary Rogowski's HANDMADE for the drive back and forth.