So here it is the holiday weekend and I have already possibly written my next two posts. Or so I thought. Because this was not supposed to be the next post but it is so I suppose that I should just get on with it. Because my next therapy session is more than a week away.
It was supposed to be a quiet evening of relaxation. I had eaten dinner and was sipping a second glass of wine while watching PS I Love You with Dumb curled up on the floor at my feet. And then my cellphone rang. I briefly thought about not answering but idiot that I am, I did.
Last Sunday my father took my stepmother to the hospital because she had nonchalantly mentioned a couple of sores on her legs. My father took one look at them and took her to the doctor. They put her on penicillin. And then on Monday morning my dad left town on a planned trip. Tuesday, my stepmother's brother decided that things didn't look quite right so he took her to the doctor again. And then my dad took her again on Thursday. Thursday they said that everything was looking OK. And then they called yesterday. They ran a culture on the infection and discovered that it is a staph infection. Great. The woman with a compromised immune system, thanks to the steroids they have been throwing down her throat to alleviate the brain swelling, now has a staph infection.
Thank goodness I had had a couple of glasses of wine because I had less of a filter than usual. Because this whole discussion started because of my dad freaking out over my stepmother's diarrhea today. After hearing it all, I replied, "Well, of course she has diarrhea. She's probably now on a broad spectrum antibiotic because of the staph infection. That means it's killing all of the bacteria -- good and bad -- in her body. You do realize that we all have helpful bacteria in our bodies?" And then I started thinking about other infections. "You should get her some cranberry juice. And some yogurt. With live culture." Oh, but my openness did not stop there. My dad shared that his older sister, who has been known to be quite the bitch, told him that he should stop sleeping in the same bed with his wife because of the infection. I know that part of her is concerned because my dad is a diabetic. But you know it has to be in some part due to her dislike of my stepmother over all of these years. I asked my dad if the wounds were dressed and if he had changed the linens. When he confirmed both, I told him to ignore his sister for now. They have slept in the same bed for over 20 years. I know the infection is a danger to him but I also don't want him blaming me for choosing to sleep in a different bed once she's gone. I did say that I understood his sister's concern though since people can actually die from staph infections. And so for the first time in all of our conversations during this process, I actually said the word "die."
I don't know about my dad, but I think that I am making great progress. And now that the movie is over, I need to find another chick flick to pop in. So that I can pretend that that's the real reason why I'm crying. Because that last one totally sucked when you've either been in relationships with crazy guys or have completely fucked up every decent relationship you've had in your life and the highlight of your Saturday night is to watch chick flicks alone. Maybe it's time to crank up the Janis Ian once more...