My dad’s physical emergencies have died down in time to make way for his psychological emergencies. These are scarier. Here’s a glimpse of my life right now:
These are just the calls I haven’t answered.
Some days the calls begin at 6:30 AM. On more forgiving days, 8:00 AM.
It’s taken me six months to recognize that my dad isn’t dying in the traditional sense. Not like how my uncle died. My uncle got really sick with COVID, went to the hospital, and died over the course of about a week. My dad is playing the long game, where he deteriorates in severe and terrifying ways, little by little, day after day, while refusing care, treatment and logic, causing scenes at various hospitals before going AMA (Against Medical Advice) at each, thereby making my life and the life of my stepmom a constant living nightmare, for as long as his brain and body will hold out. And against all human odds, they are holding out.
The new deal is — he’s home, but he’s delirious and delusional. Donna says it’s dementia, he thinks it’s long COVID brain fog. Does he believe in COVID? No. Would he rather blame his mental state on COVID than…
