Godammit, I’m Mad!

My father is a man who likes to get married and have children. Of my five half-siblings, I have only bonded with Michael, possibly because we were the “black sheep” of our families or maybe just because he’s so lovable.

Michael has more tattoos that you’ll ever want to see. Not only that, he is a butcher. Meat is his calling.

When my teenager was little and I got a full-time job, Michael took care of him every day. When anyone has hurt me, Michael has offered to kill them.  Once, he married my best friend, but they were just being silly and now they know better.

Michael came to visit over the weekend and he brought his beautiful girlfriend Shelly, who is studying engineering and drives a big motorcycle. She is a great girl. I didn’t realize the extent of her greatness until she sent me this picture of a dead squirrel she saw in the street near my house!

May Shelly and Michael be together forever, and may all squirrels be dead ones!

*UPDATE:

Michael just got his own “ma haine dure” tattoo, as well as an International No symbol that should cover everything else. Great job, Mike! xo

Mr. Capote is long gone. An old guy with pneumonia came and went. Yesterday, a new roommate arrived, connected to some sort of oxygen machine whose decibel level is akin to a loud blow dryer up against your ear.

The entire room is filled with a shrill hissing sound that immediately rattles ones brain. When Max’s attending doctor made her rounds today, she confessed that the noise was driving her nuts.

Max doesn’t want to switch to a new room, now that he has the window. But what about the noise?!? It is constant, 24 hours a day, and it is bound to ruin his hearing.

The poor man attached to the machine is unable to speak, but his family came today and gave him some paper to write on. I then realized that he is a person and not just a nuisance devised to torture my son and me. I told the  family that I would try to look out for their father, even though it’s hard enough getting sub-adequate care for Max.

So far, since my last update, there has been a blood clot, an infection, and the discovery that Max’s right arm is broken. No wonder it hurts! No one will reposition him unless you ask, and even then there may be a wait. The patients are supposed to be washed every day; every 4 days is the norm, and sometimes longer. They have never once offered up a toothbrush. Not once.

The nurses like to move the bedside tray around two feet out of reach. They also like to come in and talk about Jesus. If you happen to be an atheist, you will need to keep your mouth shut, since they have so much power over your basic comfort, not to mention your actual life.

It has been nearly nine weeks now. It’s hard to know what to do to make life in this “hospital” more tolerable. My patient has no appetite and is resigned to the fact that no one will come when he pushes the call-button. If only I could trade places with him.