Thursday, January 12, 2017

Failure WILL NOT Kill Me

Today was the first day that my Timehop had a post laden with anger towards my Dad and his flip-flopping end of life decisions, his reaching out to people he hadn't spoken to in 40 years for advice instead of hearing the voice of his family, and his disregard for anything meaningful.

I hate the bitterness.

Bitterness turned to action.

My Dad gave up on life, his wife, his children, and his grandchildren.  He gave up on me.  This man who "responded well to dialysis" when he chose to do it,  just up and decided it wasn't worth the hassle and quit his life-saving treatment, then changed his mind right before he was dying, only to change it back to giving up after he had been given enough treatment to allow him to live a shallow existence for a few more days.

As much as you can want someone to live, you can also beg for it to be over.

I wished that he would say something poignant, apologize for not being there, and spend his last days telling me everything I should have been told by my Dad in my 40 years of life.  I wished that he would tell me that he loved me and I would believe it.  For the first time, I would feel like this man who was directly involved in bringing me to life would make me feel like a person he truly loved and not like a person he would've easily thrown away had it not been for the paper trail.

...but wishing will not make it so...

He died at 59 years old from failure.

Failure to act.

Long before dialysis, there was failure to take diabetic oral meds, failure to take insulin, and failure to change his diet.

Diabetes or kidney failure is not what killed him.  His failure to treat them did.

He died on 02/05/2016.  Over the next month or so...I struggled to care..not about life in general, but about him not being here.  I wanted to miss him, but I didn't.  He had long been gone for me longer than he had been physically gone and I was angry that I was not enough for him to choose to fight.  I couldn't understand how you could be presented with medical options to treat your illness and NOT utilize them.

Then it hit me like a ton of bricks...AM I DOING THE SAME THING?  Is my total disdain for weight loss surgery preventing me from treating my illness?  The answer I settled on was yes, so I took action.

I'm 12 weeks post surgery today.  I am down 60lbs.  I have lost the equivalent of my 9 year old daughter. 

I still wish I missed him, its not from lack of trying.  I understand now that there is nothing wrong with me if I don't.

Here's to deciding to live.