In amazing timing, only about a day after I posted my last blog, which heavily mentioned my father and his deteriorating condition... he fell and broke his shoulder in 6 places.
He was going down the stairs to the basement to get a dish drainer (I don't know what they are actually called, but you put dishes on them to dry after washing them). I was doing the dishes in my sister's house, and asked dad if he knew if my sister had one, and if she did have one, did he know where it was? He didn't, but thought he had one of his own down in the basement. I told him not to worry about it, I would just use a towel.
Of course, as I turned back around to finish the dishes, dad left without saying anything. He needs live-in help, and is not supposed to use the stairs by himself, and he has no reason to go to the basement, since it's down another flight of steps, and he's been told by all of us, including doctors, not to use them unless he must, and when he must, to have help. (He had back surgery 6 years ago, and since then has had trouble walking) So, naturally, he goes to the basement as I'm washing dishes... and the next thing I hear is him yelling my name. "What?" I yelled back. "Come here!" And of course I walk through the house and can't find him, but finally walk down the two flights of stairs. He's at the bottom.
His feet slipped, and when he fell he landed on his right shoulder exactly on the corner of one of the stairs. The ball of the joint broke, one piece chipped off, but the rest of the ball fractured in a spiderweb of 5 other breaks. He was in a lot of pain, likely because it's not like breaking one bone, he broke the same bone 6 times, so the pain was increased. And, naturally, what did I do as I saw him lying on the stairs in pain? I turned into my typical self and started chiding him and telling him that's why he wasn't supposed to go down those stairs, especially alone, and what the hell was he thinking? I didn't know he was hurt that bad when I was saying all of this, but I still feel like an asshole for yelling at my dad as he's lying on the stairs with a severely broken shoulder.
Yeah, only a day after complaining about him... so I guess I should realize that no matter how bad you think things are, you should realize they can get worse, so stop bitching and try to enjoy your life. Then again, if you don't think things are bad, where's the motivation to make a better world for yourself and others, how do you try to improve anything and grow as a person? Still, bitching less must surely be a good thing.
I couldn't get dad up and into the car to go to the hospital, so I called 911 and they sent an ambulance. Finally we made it to the hospital, and he was x-rayed. My dad has been through a lot, and he's had a lot of pain in his life. He had a finger cut off and re-attached with fake knuckles, and when he was 12 a garbage truck hit his leg, broke it, and tore all of the skin off... he was in the hospital for 8 months recovering from that. With all of that pain, when they asked him how his pain was for his shoulder on a scale from 1 to 10, with 10 being the worst pain he'd ever felt, he said 9. My father is a man who takes potatoes out of the oven with his bare hands.
I don't know where I'm going with this... I'm pretty sure I'm rambling... so I'll stop here. I just don't like fate's sense of humor... I talk about my dad, and a day later he falls and breaks his shoulder... the "humor" bone in point of fact. What the fuck?
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