For evening snack Friday night, I had a challenge snack and at a half cup of ice cream. Earlier that evening, my dad had, I thought jokingly, told me I couldn’t have any ice cream until I moved a lamp he wanted me to move. The lamp isn’t in a place I normally see, and he always reminds me when I’m in the middle of something else.
So when he saw I had eaten ice cream, he asked if I had moved the lamp. I said no. He told me to go to the bathroom and stick my finger down my throat and throw it up. I was in complete shock, and didn’t know how to respond. I already wanted to purge the ice cream. And my dad knows I’m bulimic. He knows I’m in treatment for bulimia. He takes me to and from treatment every day!
I went to my room and texted my mom, in tears, and told her what happened and how I wanted to purge and how his comment just kept going through my brain. She told me that she knew my brain was probably being really loud, but to try knitting or watching something and distracting myself. So I did. I got out my knitting and I put on Parks and Recreation and I just sat in my room trying to pretend me father didn’t exist and I distracted myself for the next couple hours until I eventually went to bed, purge-free.
I am tired. I am weary. I have been so busy this week. Between appointments, spending time at the hospital with my dad, treatment, pre-surgery stuff, helping out around the house, plus we have been going through our storage unit trying to get rid of as much as possible so we can stop paying an extra $200 a month on a storage unit to store a bunch of stuff we don’t need. That’s physically exhausting between the fibromyalgia and the rheumatoid arthritis. I woke up this morning fatigued, tired, ready to sleep another night. My body aches and my brain feels like cotton. I have another day of looking through boxes and moving furniture and then spending time with my dad at the hospital.
I’m grateful to be able to spend time at the hospital. But I feel guilty if I take time to myself because he’s there 24/7 alone, bored, restless, in pain. I know I need to take care of myself too, and I’m trying, but finding the right balance has been hard. Today is a week since we ambushed him. A week he’s been in the hospital. He’ll find out more tomorrow about when he can come home.
After my dad was admitted to the hospital, I spent the night and next day with him, keeping him company, making sure he had everything he needed, listening to the doctors to make sure we knew what was going on, advocating for him. It was a long couple days, first in the ER, then in the hospital the next day. Last night I came home and slept. I just showered and I feel refreshed.
My dad’s infection spread into his muscle. The doctor said if he’d left it much longer, it’d be in his bone, and he’d had lost the leg. I’m relieved and so thankful that my family ambushed him and made him go to the hospital. He’ll need several surgeries and lots of strong antibiotics. He goes in for his first surgery today.
My sister is taking today’s shift. I wish I could be there for him, but I also know I need to rest today. I’m very sore, my fibromyalgia is flaring up from the hospital chair I spent the last couple days in. Even with my frequent walks I didn’t escape its cruel consequences.
I talk to my dad via Facebook messenger (because it doesn’t use his data since it’s over the hospital’s wifi) often. He’s, naturally, bored and restless. The next time I go up to see him (tomorrow) I’m taking cards and we’ll play cribbage.
A bit ago I wrote about my dad’s infection in his leg and how he’s believing for faith healing and refuses to see a doctor for it.
Well, my siblings, mom, and I talked yesterday. We talked about how worried we are about him and his health, and how we’re worried about losing him. So, we have staged an intervention for tomorrow. I am not looking forward to it. I hate confrontation. I don’t want to confront him on this. However, something needs to give, because I’m terrified of losing him. So, I’ll be a part of this intervention if it give more weight to the event. I assume the more people who come together the more seriously he’ll take it.
Here’s hoping he doesn’t just blow us off.
I’ve mentioned before that ny dad just doesn’t get it. No matter how I try to explain my eating disorder, he just can’t seem to wrap his head around it. Tonight I have, for your viewing pleasure, another example. Here is a conversation I just had with him.
Dad: How much do you use your bike each day?
Me: It varies. Usually between 3 and 6 hours.
Dad: Great job!
Dad: Do me a favor, tomorrow, after you finish on the bike, do an hour for me.
Me: Ok, Dad.
Dad: Haha, yeah right.
Me, in my head: You have no idea.