I'm still in the pits of southeast Kansas. Cancer fucking sucks. I don't even have it myself, but my dad's cancer is sucking the life out of me. Just in a day, looking at how it's deprived him of who he is. My dad tinkers with computers, plays the cello, rants regularly, hikes, camps, and takes photos. I don't know how to relate to him when he's a shell who lies still moaning but can't decide what would even make him feel better.
My star nursing interventions have been to give him a bed bath and massage his feet because he has hideous neuropathy but can't get enough oxygen to move around.
He's at the local hospital that tried to kill him before, but he's on the unit with the good nurses, so I don't feel like I need to be there all the time to keep them from doing something boneheaded and dangerous, at least. As far as I can tell, he's receiving appropriate treatment. Even though yesterday was Sunday, they did a lot of tests, and the various specialists who came in listened to me as though I had a working brain and ordered some stuff at my request if I made a good case for it. That's a nice change from before, when they did stupid dangerous things even though I threw a fit and he ended up with serious iatrogenic harm. Like, they gave him Lovenox and he had to have two operations for the resulting retroperitoneal hematoma.
My job is covering my shifts for a few more days. "That's what time off is for," says the boss. I'm grateful I don't work for a draconian hospital. And that I have friends who circle the wagons; my pets are taken care of and so on. Things can always be worse.