I Do Hope For The Best

I got a text at work Friday night from the woman that my Dad lives with. It said, “they’re moving him to I.C.U.” I called her immediately to ask what was wrong, I didn’t even know he was in the hospital. Laverne told me that ever since he had the pacemaker put in, he’d had a problem with falling down. I knew about an incident, a week or two earlier, in which he had fallen while walking a friend’s dog and required a trip to the emergency room where he received a number of stitches on his face and had a number of scratches to go along with it. I’d spoken to him a couple times since then and he seemed fine. We were able to joke about how unattractive I was sure he looked.

So, again, why was he being moved into the I.C.U. let alone be in the hospital? Well, it seems that when Laverne brought him into the hospital for his normal visit with the Dr. she mentioned the falling down. The Dr’s. felt this was something they should check out and admitted him into the emergency room and ran some tests. It was during these tests that they discovered two things. First: the pacemaker was set too high and they needed to adjust it. No big deal, I’m sure this kind of thing happens more than we all would think. Secondly, and more importantly, they found what Laverne called, a slow leak in his heart that would require surgery.

Dad’s been going to the V.A. Dr’s. pretty much since he retired and was at the local hospital in Chicago. It turns out that they either don’t do this type of surgery there or none at all so they will have to move him to Milwaukee on Monday for the operation to take place there. I’m pretty sure this is not some earthshaking operation and it probably gets done on quite a regular basis. I know that with all the advances in medicine he’ll be in much better hands than he would if this was 20 years earlier. That still doesn’t make one take pause and wonder if this is possibly the last time I’ll ever hear from him. I know, that sounds so morbid and pessimistic but it’s not meant to be. Dad’s going to be 78 in July and has never been in any kind of shape physically. He’s never been one to exercise or eat properly and at his age, let’s just say, things started to catch up on him years ago.

I’ve written a number of things about my Father and his relationship with his children so I won’t rehash any of that now. What I will say is that I hope he comes through this in good shape and lives many, many more years. I do wish I was more invested in this emotionally than I seem to be. It just seems like I should be all about this right now and I’m having a hard time getting all worked up about it. I feel bad about that but I can only feel what I feel.

A Shadow Of Doubt

It’s an amazing thing, what self-doubt can do to a life. It can change the course of ones existence so drastically and bury one so deep within himself that the true inner person may never see the light of day. Self-doubt often plays such a large role in life that it really doesn’t matter what others are telling you about yourself. Their compliments and praises are but a faint noise compared to the booming voice inside your head telling you no or you can’t do this or that.

I’m sure we’ve all been victims of this disease called doubt and I’m sure the stories out there, for some, are true tragedies. I know from my own experience how crippling and controlling it can be. Doubt can take you away from family and friends and create layer upon layer of a shelter so thick that, without help of some sort, you may never find your way out.

As a small child I was constantly being teased about being fat. As is quite the norm for children, my two older brothers and their friends would always come up with some line or joke about my weight. As is want to happen, I started not only believing what those around me were saying, I started to build the first of the numerous walls I’ve surrounded myself with throughout my life. I bought into this fat thing so much that after I got sick in high school and shrunk to 123 lbs. with a waist line of 24, I still thought of myself as fat. I’ve gotten a lot better about it, and though the thought of being fat isn’t the constant it once was, it’s still there.

I know that the effect of growing up with that type of doubt about myself has played a major part in numerous events throughout my life. The easiest example is my absolute failure in developing any real romantic relationships. That’s not really the right term. It’s my failure of trying to develop said relationships. Yes, I was married, but there is no way anyone who saw that develop could say I was in any way the catalyst in that relationship. Actually, my lack of belief in myself was probably the one thing that ensured that the marriage wouldn’t last.

Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying here. I’m not blaming my brothers for the problems created during my youth that I’ve allowed to control my adult life. I’m just trying to pinpoint the beginnings of some of the issues that have helped to create those walls I spoke of earlier. I’m also quite aware that all kids are made fun of and teased and many never carry any of that trash past their youth. I, on the other hand, wasn’t able to shake that stuff when I was supposed to leave my childhood behind.

I’d like to think I’m putting some cracks in that oldest of walls that have surrounded me for well over forty years. I still have a poor self image but not as bad as it once was. I’d also like to believe that I’m constantly working on breaking down those other shields I’ve surrounded myself with. It is , as is most of life, a process, a process that probably takes a lifetime to complete. I figure that as long as I keep working on it, things can only get better.