Am I a superstar?

Aftermath & Reflection

It will still be at least 2 weeks of rehabilitating recovery for Mom to be back to partial or full functionality. It is just a unfortunate way to get a realization of things that are or are to come in the future. Am I prepared for a departure of one or both of my parents. I'd like to think that I am, but you never truly are. Needless to say, I nor I think anybody is looking forward towards that day. It's disturbing, awkward but unfortunately necessary to find out what their final plans are. What they want done, where they want to be taken care of, what the fate of the estate will be, the fate of the family.
Looking back on what this event has given insight to so far is that lessons should be learned as to what happens when you get that old. How should one postpone the inevitable? I'm turning 30 in a month. There is no more time to waste thinking that I am invincible. I'm no longer a spry 19 year old in college that has plenty of time to ponder my future. I need to stop being so self-destructive to myself, because as I see the rest of my family age and have their health problems arise, I see what I am susceptible to. Cancers of all types, diabetes, Parkinson's, heart failure, high blood pressure, gastric problems, bone and joint conditions (which, as a bad sign, I'm already starting to feel effects of- guess I should have never played illegal tackle football in Jr High and broke my arm). I seriously need to take my diet and weight into consideration. I know I can still eat like a 16 year old, but soon enough, my body will take a bad turn in reacting to it.
I know I can't sit down and eat almost a whole package of oreo cookies with a half gallon of milk. Not that I have done that recently, those were the college days. Hell, I haven't had an oreo cookie in I think 2 years. I suppose I'm not doing that bad. I can't tell you the last time I ordered fast food, its been that long. Not that bar food is much better. At least a good portion of the bar food I've been eating is light enough and or grilled not fried.
I'm entering a strange transition right now of aging, family decisions, re-entering the dating scene with different people and future job security and career choices. Before I had some form of guidance. Now there is no solid master plan. Things have the possibility now, as per example from the past few days, that my life has the potential for an unconceivable path change in an instant. It's scary that I may have to give everything up that I have made for myself as a life here in order to take care of my family again. It would be something that I need to do though. I owe everything towards my parents and what they have done for me. After all, after being unplanned and unexpected, I shouldn't even be here today. Instead, they embraced it and changed their entire life to dedicate it towards my future. It's the very least I can do to respect what they have done.
At the very least it should be a realization that all things are temporary over a long enough time frame. We're all just visitors here. Maybe we should enjoy it and try to stay as long as we can or are welcome. I suppose then at the end, it would seem worth it.
Carpe Diem my friends.

Part 6, going home

I woke up Friday morning thinking I was back in high school. It was 8 am, and my old bedroom was still dark. It's like that all the time back home. The fog in the bay area doesn't clear up til 1pm, so it stays dark, unlike Arizona where its bright and blinding at 5 am. September had that chill in the air. I sleep with my window open back home, right above my head. That cold sea chill that invigorates your nostrils on each breath and makes you not want to leave the warmth of the blankets. That was probably why I had to rush to school enough times back in the day, didn't want to get out of bed. I lay awake in bed under the covers for a while. I remember times ten years ago. The smell of fresh brewed coffee and toast find their way once again into my room. I wait for the tell-tale ting a ling a ling of my dad's spoon stirring a scoop of sugar in his coffee. I can hear the pigeons cooing in the backyard. I'm already homesick and I haven't left yet.
I get up and dressed and eat some linguica and eggs for breakfast with dad. We decide on taking separate cars in case I have to leave for the airport straight from the hospital. Dad leaves and I take a quick shower. Before I leave I grab my camera and take a few snapshots of the yard, including the above pic of Dirty Ryan's old house. It's still his house, but its not the same. No more front porch, no trees in front, different paint, different feel.
I pack up my suitcase and toss it in the car and head up.
I expected that the doc would have come by now to give his opinion by now. I should have known better about the hospital system in this country. He was supposed to be around in the early morning, but being tied up in surgery made him come by at noon. Mom is frustrated, hungry, tired, uncomfortable and wants to get the hell out of there.
The doc says that she will need to keep the drain tube and bag in until Monday, but she can go home today. The nurse breaks down the discharge procedure for her, tells her about her meds, what to eat, drink, her activity levels, etc...simply put, soft foods, liquids for a bit, no activities besides walking for 2 weeks, and stay on your antibiotic cocktail til the script runs out. The nurse calls for a transport out of the hospital (stupid California law # 10943- no patient in the state of California can leave the hospital in any condition under their own power, they must be wheeled out by hospital staff). Lame... We end up waiting another 45 minutes for one guy to wheel her down the hall, into the elevator, and out the adjacent door to the sidewalk.
We put her in the car and head out. I drive to the house while dad drives mom to the pharmacy to fill her script. While they are there I grab a few of my dad's apples and tomatoes and pack them in the suitcase.
They come home and mom is instantly in a better mood. I have a bite of lunchmeat and a small roll with coffee before I leave for the airport. Mom is able to eat some of her homemade applesauce. She wolfs down the small bowl. It's the first good tasting thing she's had in three days, let alone anything solid.
I feel bad leaving, but I have to get to the airport. I say my goodbyes, tell mom I love her and as per tradition, my last view of home is dad standing out front exchanging waves goodbye.
Rest is standard...gas up the rental, return the car, shuttle to the airport, board a full plane, sit next to a VERY nervous Arab-American man, which makes me equally nervous. After the stressful 3 days I've had, that's just what I need, to be caught up in another air tragedy. At least I knew that if shit went down that I would let some stress out and do a whole lot of damage to this poor man before it ends. But I'm over-reacting. I think he's nervous thinking that I'm thinking that he's thinking of blowing the plane up or something. Fuck it, I'm too tired, I doze off with one eye open.
Get to Phoenix, pick up the truck and call my boss to tell him that I'll be in work at 8. Home sweet home, for 45 minutes at least. I call up a pizza order to thank the crew for covering my shifts while I was gone. Pick it up and deliver it. Ironically the main guy I wanted to thank started a diet the day before so he didn't eat any of it. So did I, so I couldn't touch it too. People ate it though, so no waste.
It's busy enough at work, but I'm just drained, physically, mentally and emotionally. I'm an empty shell at work that night that just wants to go home.

Part 5

We get back in from the hospital and Dad is toast. He crashes out around 1030. I stay up, make a sandwich and watch Dane Cook on HBO. At least his stand up is funny enough to brighten my spirits up tonight. I can't stay awake any longer though and I pass out on the bed close to midnight. The next morning I wake up and dad and I grab a quick breakfast before heading up to the hospital again. Mom is in a slightly better mood than yesterday, although the hospital food they are giving her as well as the the attention she is getting is lax. Liquid diet only, and a diabetic one at that. Dad and I feel a little guilty when we walk down to the cafeteria to grab a sandwich. I field some phone calls from family members, talk to my boss and give him updates as to when I'm coming home and then we head back up to the room.
They are starting to ween her off the morphine and work vicodin instead. She can get up and walk more now and finally go to the bathroom again even though its only pee now.
She wants to go home bad, its starting to get on her nerves. She dismisses us around 3 to go home and grab some dinner.
I leave first while dad stays for a few more minutes. I tell him that I won't be home until 4 because I had planned to go see my old water polo coach at my high school.
I drive down to the school and park the car.

I am Marc's wanton desire to live in the past again...

I walk into the new pool facility, which is nice, very nice, but not the same. On the other side of the fence where the old pool was is a courtyard and trees now. The girl's team is swimming on one side and the boys are stretching on the other side. I barely recognize Frank. 10 years has aged him greatly. He still has the same strong Italian presence though. The face has aged, but the heart and soul is there. That's what I always recognized anyway. We chew the fat while the boys start to warm up. Catching up on old times and updates is a good feeling to have with an old friend. It warms the soul. He leads the gang through warm-up drills as I watch with a blatant smile on my face. Same drills as before. I want to get in so bad. I can almost feel the chilly water on my face, the slight chlorine taste on my lips, the occasional blinding reflection off the water surface. I miss it. As with every visit back to see him and the team, he offers me a coaching position, whether it be an assistant to him, or in this case, a head coaching position for the girl's team. It's really tempting, too tempting. If I could take it, I would in a heart beat. If the day comes that I have to move back here I will. It has already hinted at shaping up that way, in a large way. Eventually something will happen to mom or dad, and I will have to come back.
Dad is considering another apartment building as an investment, with me managing and living in it. That's for another blog though. I say my goodbyes to Frank and leave him with a little inspiration for the kids by joking that if they ask who I was, by fault of me wearing a Air Force T-shirt, that I was a sports recruiter for the USAF team.
I head home and I whip up some broiled fish and potatoes and an acorn squash for dessert.
While I am working in the kitchen I hear a something going on in the garage. I stick my head around the corner to see what's going on.
Most of the year my dad has a problem with possums, raccoons, rats and squirrels in the backyard eating his crops or trying to kill his birds in the coop. In the past dad would call the local animal control guy for larger animals or kill the rats. Today he was flooding the garage sink with water.

I am Alfreds revenge against his creator...

Dad catches a squirrel in a large trap. In what I can only describe as Dad dishing a little payback against the God he does love, he wants a little payback after dealing with 5 years of cancer and now making the woman he loves suffer by handling the fate of one of God's creatures. The cage goes in the water and the squirrel is dead in less than a minute. Fertilizer for the lemon tree.
We eat dinner. Dad is stuffed and happy. Head back up to the hospital and I make the judgment call based on Mom's condition that I should be free to return to Phoenix the next day. We spend the night at the hospital talking about family, watching a few game shows on TV, then the hospital kicks us out after the end of visiting hours.
We have to be up early and at the hospital in the morning to wait for the doctor for a report and possible discharge so we head to bed.

Stress factor part 4

I tell dad that I need a little extra rest and a shower, so I'll meet him at the hospital. I head up there an hour later than Dad and walk in to see Mom hopped up on morphine again. She doesn't look much better, but then again, she just had surgery and she doesn't look any worse, so I suppose that's a good thing.
They cleaned her out orthoscopicly and now have her on a antibiotic cocktail along with the morphine. We stay for a bit, Dad and I catch up on updates between us, and occasionally spit out a comment to mom about the casinos. Funny how she zips back to consciousness when her favorite hobby of "casinoing" is brought up. At least her spirits perk up when that stuff is mentioned. We stay til 5 and then head out to get some diner and groceries while the nurse attends to mom and let her get a little rest.
Dad and I head out to the market and grab some food for meals. I decide on making pork chops and rice for dinner. This is where some things sink in. I'm an independent guy. I can cook really, really well, clean, shop, laundry, you name it. I'll be a pretty good wife someday if I even need one. My dad isn't that independent. He can cook a little. Can't shop or clean. He runs the business show, Mom runs the home life. Without his partner he is lost. At the grocery store he is lost. I grab items we need and he is back pushing the cart all wide-eyed and confused. I toss something in the cart and he asks why. We are out of bread I say. We have no more cheese. The pork chops are for dinner. You are almost out of mocha mix. Takes him a second, but he gets it.
It's hard to think of him living without mom. It's even more wrong to think that when the time comes, it would almost be better if Dad goes first. Mom could handle herself better than dad could alone. Either way, no matter who goes, I'd still be at home with them, so it wouldn't really matter.
We get back, I start cooking. I'm not used to electric stoves. They suck, uncontrollable, and burn easy. I manage, and manage well to turn out a good meal. Dad says he needs to make more coffee. I tell him I just made a new pot. I clear off the table like mom would have and do dishes. I tell Dad to go sit and relax, watch the news like he normally would. I am officially a surrogate mom.
My Godparents visit for a minute and we update them on her condition. Dad fields random phone calls from relatives inquiring about her. We then head up back to the hospital.
She's awake and coming down off the latest dose of morphine. The nurses are pushing for her to urinate and pass gas. They had to basically inflate her like a balloon to do what they had to do. The bloating is actually causing more pain that the operation or the drainage tube they had to put in. Her modesty though gets the best of her. To put it crudely, she can't fart in public, let alone near either of us. The nurses also are encouraging her to start walking if she can. We gingerly get her up, disconnect her IV from the wall and we escort her down the hall. Surprisingly we made 2 trips down and back. Give her a A+ for determination. However the day's events and medication name her dizzy and nauseous and on the 2nd trip I have to make a dash for a trash can so she can vomit in my arms. Enough for her. We get her back in bed and that will be it for today. We stay til 11pm and then go home.
Stay tuned for parts 5 and 6...

Stress factor part 3

There is nothing more heartbreaking than seeing someone close to you whom you love so much lay there laying in the most intense pain you can think of. I walk in and see Dad, dead tired from staying up by Mom's side all night, eek out a small grin of relief. Then I take a good look at Mom. Pale, disheveled, a permanent look of discomfort on she face, tubes coming out of her face and both arms. My eyes well up. I give her a gentle kiss and start asking both of them what the story is.

Apparently the doctor has not done surgery yet. They have her on a IV and morphine drip right now. What has happened was that her appendix had gotten infected and inflamed. Instead of it swelling down and out as usual, it inverted and got tucked under her bowels and internals, which masked the sickness until it finally ruptured, contaminating and infecting a good portion of her abdominal cavity. Her gut was swollen and tender and needed to be cleaned out stat. Within 24 hours she's be dead.

We sit and talk, trying to comfort her as much as we can. The morphine has her drifting in and out until the pain wakes her up again. This has happened before to us, which is what's scary. 25 years ago her mom, my grandmother, had the same thing happen. A rupture contaminated her abdomen and despite cleaning it up as best as they could, she died a few days later. I really don't want my mom to pass the same way.

Finally the orderlies come and we wheel her down to the surgery ward. We wish her well, love and kiss her goodbye. Dad and I go to the waiting room. We chat, making exhausted small talk over really potent coffee. I'm sorry, but hospitals don't make weak coffee. Straws, spoons, hell even a horseshoe would stand up straight in this stuff. I suppose its strong for obvious reasons. The waiting room is boring, so we take a walk around the hospital. Dad chats about the hospital and the doctors he's had. It's strange to hear that the shoe is on the other foot now. Mom, in the past 5 years had to deal with him and his doctors, his operations, 4 cancers in 4 years, 2 lung operations, chemo, radiation, etc...and now Dad has a taste of what Mom has been going through. He's aware of the stress now that something like this can bring.

After walking a while, we head back the waiting room for the doctor. It was estimated that the operation should take an hour. With complications, it took near 3. The doc comes and explains things out to us and says that she'll be in recovery for a few hours. The doc is joking and optimistic, which is always a good sign. This gives us a few hours to head home, eat and rest. Which is exactly what we do. After a quick sandwich, I crash in my old bed. It's low, musty, but pretty damn comfortable. AS I drift off for a 45 minute nap, my eyes wander a bit and take in some of the items still up in the room from my high school days. Nostalgic memories doze me off.

Stress factor part 2

I wake up from the worst drunken hour and a half nap ever at 5am. Grab my bag, chuck it in the truck and drive to the long term parking lot. Hop in the shuttle and book it to the airport terminal. No line thankfully, so I head up to the kiosk and attempt to check in. Computer is not letting me. Try a different way, and then another, and another. The attendant says that I am not in the system and to go to the full service desk. I head up there and she tries to figure it out. Turns out that in my stressed and somewhat drunk minutes that night when I was booking it, I had forgotten that it was now Wednesday when I booked it, thinking it was still Tuesday. By booking it the next morning, I had actually booked it for Thursday morning. She looked at me like I was an idiot and told me that the flight was for the next day. I told her my brief story, and without compassion or acknowledgement of a simple mistake, she had no sympathy for me. A $100 reservation alteration fee later and the twat had me free to go to the gate. I had to call up the car rental too and do the exact same thing.
Get to the gate, board, get my seat. The booze is starting to wear off and I'm getting nauseous and hungover. I get some water and some crackers. Pass out on the flight once for a 5 minute nap. Get to the airport in San Jose, grab a rental car from Enterprise. Dude there was named Tito. Nice guy, professional, courteous. Very cool actually. Mad props, made my morning a little easier, gratzi.
Get in the car and head up north to home. I get on the phone and call home, but there is no answer. I assumed right thinking that Dad was still at the hospital. I call my Godmother and try to get info out of her, but she knows just as much as I do. I bypass home and head straight to the hospital. Get info at the front desk and head up to the hospital room.

Stress factor part 1

First, yes, I am aware that it is Sunday now and I am posting on events from the past 5 days. I'm sure once you get into the reading that you will see why I couldn't get to this sooner.
Not that any of you are beating down the doors to get reading my blogs anyways.
So...yes...
Titty bar Tuesday is a happy day right? Or at least it is supposed to be. Especially Titty Bar Tuesday combined with a birthday right??! I opened the bar on Tuesday, got off at 6, had a quick half drink with Courtney, my server before heading home to get ready to come back out for my friend Laura's birthday. I head out to home, along the way I pick up a birthday cake, scribble some happy words on the cake, wrap a present and a card, have enough time to step in the shower, get dressed and then head back out. Where to? Of all places, my own work. Oh joy! Spend most of my time there already, so what is a few extra hours of off duty partying?
I get there and Laura, her friend, Drea and my ex Crystal are there. A little awkward since we have not hung out or talked since the breakup, but I'm not going to let that ruin a birthday. Especially a mutual friend's day. We make small talk and are generally cordial to eachother. What's important is that we are at least on talking terms.
Anyways, Papi shows up, Lauren, and Courtney too. Courtney wants to do shots, so we do a few rounds. We push some on Laura and she's on her way to happy land. So are we, because Courtney's boyfriend works at Skin and can get us the hookup.
It's unanimous, it's titty bar time. We pack into a few cars and head out to the strip club. Courtney's man gives us the free pass hookup and we are in.
The layout of Skin isn't as good as Babe's. The girls are just as good looking, but the stage is definitely not as accessible. We fanangle a table and all plop down to enjoy the show. Right about now is when the redbull in my vodka redbulls is kicking OFF. Buzzed to wasted in about 5 minutes. I keep trying to shake it off and sober up a little. I negotiate a lapdance for Laura and Papi and Randi (out dancer) grinds away on them both for a few minutes. I think Papi enjoyed the dance a little better with her tits in his face after they came out of the black fishnet top despite her having what he called, "crazy eyes". I tell Papi its time to go because I'm wasted and hungry and really need to pee without using the club bathroom with "Reggie" the attendant charging a access fee for handing you a paper towel.
We head out, I piss for 10 minutes on a dumpster (which Chris took a future incriminating photo of, wanger in hand), and we head out to the Philly Co for a sandwich.
We order and pay and wait for the food to come up. While we wait, I head outside to check my phone which says I have 2 missed calls.
Here my friends is where my night went from a 9.5 to about a negative 5. I get on the phone and my one message is from Dad at 1:30am. Mom in is the ER and is about to undergo emergency surgery.
I am now the most sober person in the world.
I call Dad and try to get a straight answer out of him. He can't tell me what's up except that she is about to get surgery. I tell him I'll be there ASAP. He argues that I shouldn't worry about it.
I don't yell at my father. Ever, let alone tell him to shutup. I did both. I tell him I'm on my way to the airport and will be there as soon as I can. Click.

I am Marc's panic delirium.

Next 20 minutes are a blur. I run across the street and down the block to work to try and find my boss. Chris follows me in his jeep. Pretty sure I outran a jeep. I get to work and my boss isn't there yet. I get him on the phone and I remember losing it on the phone with him. He tells me to calm down and then yells at me to get home and take care of things without worrying about my job for however long it takes. That's why I respect my boss as a person, it shows after all that he's human too.
I get in my truck and tell Chris to follow me home. Hit the highway and I lose Chris. I never lose Chris. Apparently going 100 on the freeway is an easy way to do this task. I get home and book the next flight out of here to head home.
I throw a couple sets of clothes in a bag and catch myself thinking " should I pack light? For a long stay? Or for a funeral?" I start to lose it again.
I pack light.
I have time to kill as well as time to sober up before I need to leave for the airport. I lose it again in front of Chris. I need to sober up. Chris still has the sandwiches from the restaurant and we decide to chow down. I need the food to sober up.
I have never had a great tasting sandwich taste so horrible. I ate it because I needed food in my stomach, honestly, I had no appetite. The sandwich was tasty in of itself, but I had no joy in in.
I explained what I could to Chris, questioned faith and God, gave him my house keys, kicked him out and passed out on the bed for a disturbed hour and a half nap.