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paperweights...what a fun word
Mar. 21st, 2002 05:54 amWell, Mom is going to go see a lawyer about Dad's leg, and how it was not healing, and there really was no effort to heal it. The whole reason he was in the hospital for so long was because of it. The reason he had to go on the morphine pump was because of it. The reason he went more sad than he could have is because of it. He didn't want it cut off, because he had watched Brad, a very close friend of his who died because of his diabetes...he had his legs, fingers, toes, cut off before he died..., and if they cut dad's leg off, he maybe would have just died of a broken spirit. The doctor really didn't help that much with it. A lot of promises and false hopes abounded, but no real action.
When she goes to the lawyer, I have to go with her. She doesn't realize what some questions mean when she is distraught, and I think during such a consultation, she would be nothing but distraught. I know I will be. When she suggested it today, I just sort of almost shut down. It just, made me indescribably sad and brought back all the pain Dad was in, and how it could've been prevented, if we had had a second opinion, but since Dad was already in the hospital, shouldn't that be good enough? It just makes me feel so angry, frustrated, helpless. I don't know if I could go with mom to the lawyer, whoever it is. I know I should, but I don't know if I can. I've been mostly fine, because I know what to do to be at a balance with death, I guess. I don't know. I know that when someone dies now, it saddens me, and I wonder where they are; but it's somehow easy to say goodbye for me. I don't know why. Maybe because I've been to a funeral or three almost every year of my life. The first funeral I remember was Great-Grandma Stella. She was 84...or 85. I tried crying because everyone else was. But I didn't know the impact of her death. Only some months later, a friend of the family, a red-haired man who helped up the slide on my swingset, killed himself. And somehow, I must've heard some adults talking, I had found out he had shot himself with a shotgun. I cried at his funeral. And I meant it. I was five. I guess by now after members of mom's family (uncles, aunts, her brother), dad's family (grandma), and dad's friends (Kevin, Brad, Iris) it's just rather easy, at the same time hard, to say goodbye.
And with all this going to see a lawyer about possible malpractice, neglect type thing, it's somehow like my goodbye was taken away from me. And maybe I should tell Mom that, and I probably will, but I, at the same time, suggested this, when I found out that they could've been giving him a different medicine less often on his leg with better results (i.e. the skin growing back). I was angry at the doctor for not even telling us about there were other treatments, but I guess it can always be called a judgment call. But still...ugh.
When she goes to the lawyer, I have to go with her. She doesn't realize what some questions mean when she is distraught, and I think during such a consultation, she would be nothing but distraught. I know I will be. When she suggested it today, I just sort of almost shut down. It just, made me indescribably sad and brought back all the pain Dad was in, and how it could've been prevented, if we had had a second opinion, but since Dad was already in the hospital, shouldn't that be good enough? It just makes me feel so angry, frustrated, helpless. I don't know if I could go with mom to the lawyer, whoever it is. I know I should, but I don't know if I can. I've been mostly fine, because I know what to do to be at a balance with death, I guess. I don't know. I know that when someone dies now, it saddens me, and I wonder where they are; but it's somehow easy to say goodbye for me. I don't know why. Maybe because I've been to a funeral or three almost every year of my life. The first funeral I remember was Great-Grandma Stella. She was 84...or 85. I tried crying because everyone else was. But I didn't know the impact of her death. Only some months later, a friend of the family, a red-haired man who helped up the slide on my swingset, killed himself. And somehow, I must've heard some adults talking, I had found out he had shot himself with a shotgun. I cried at his funeral. And I meant it. I was five. I guess by now after members of mom's family (uncles, aunts, her brother), dad's family (grandma), and dad's friends (Kevin, Brad, Iris) it's just rather easy, at the same time hard, to say goodbye.
And with all this going to see a lawyer about possible malpractice, neglect type thing, it's somehow like my goodbye was taken away from me. And maybe I should tell Mom that, and I probably will, but I, at the same time, suggested this, when I found out that they could've been giving him a different medicine less often on his leg with better results (i.e. the skin growing back). I was angry at the doctor for not even telling us about there were other treatments, but I guess it can always be called a judgment call. But still...ugh.
