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Please Take My Eyeballs

The downside of being the family caregiver...

Yesterday I saw my dads balls.

Wait. Let me explain...cause lord knows we are honkey, but we ain't "THAT" kindof honkey.

I showed up about 9:30am to pick my dad up for his VA apt.

First I need to tell you about the universe, and how I am a firm believer in "certain things happen for certain reasons."

I know I'm all over the place, just bear with me.

Before Thursday morning I had not taken my dad to any of his doctors appointments in over a year. He has a car, and most of the time is able bodied, and drives himself. My father is also a paranoid schizophrenic.

But for some reason Tuesday and Wednesday he was very adamant about making sure I would be there to take him to his apt Thursday morning. I asked him if his car was working, he told me it was, I asked him if he needed money for gas, he told me no- that he had gotten paid and just really wanted me to take him. Reluctantly I agreed, and assured him I would be there Thursday morning to pick him up.

So I arrive Thursday morning at 9:30 and knock on the door. No answer. I go around to the side of his house and throw rocks at his window. No answer. (I wasn't worried yet, as sometimes his psych meds cause him to sleep super deep.) I banged on the door and windows for about 15 more minutes, and still no answer. At this point I started to get worried, so I went next-door to get his house key from his neighbor, but unfortunately she wasn't home. I went back over to his house and started looking for a way to break in. I found a way in through the sliding glass door and immediately started yelling "DAD." No answer. I heard a slight grumbling coming from the bathroom area, and opened the bathroom door....

I found my dad laying there unresponsive, (breathing but uncommunicative) and immediately called 911.

("Hey, I need an ambulance, I'm getting ready to stab my fucking eyeballs out because I just saw my dad's turtle and his fucking shell, please send bleach and immediate help!")

The paramedics arrived and told me my dad was hyperthermic, his temperature registering 89°. There was no telling how long he had been in the bathtub.

They took him to the hospital and after running a bunch of tests, believe he had had a seizure, which prevented him from getting out of the bathtub.

He's doing OK, totally coherent and bugging the nurses every 3 minutes about his pain meds because those are his favorite….the pain meds, not the nurses.

Let me tell you, I've always known that I would be the one to find my father dead one day, simply because I'm the one who deals with him the most, but walking in and finding that scene is something I don't wish on anyone...

Especially the seeing of ones dad's junk. Totally not cool..not fucking cool.

On a serious note though, I do believe in fate, and magic juju of some sort or another...there is no other explanation for my father insisting I take him to the VA out of nowhere. None.

Somebody out there, somewhere, must really like him...

It's not me though...

He knows he coulda had that damn seizure in the kitchen, or on the damn porch...WEARING CLOTHES.

And now...because of him...we will never have a pet turtle.

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Please Take My Eyeballs
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