#family dysfunction

By the time I was around nine or ten years old, school had stopped feeling like just a place to learn. It became another place where I carried the consequences of adult problems I had no control over. I was late to school constantly. Not because I overslept.Not because I was irresponsible.Not because I didn’t care. I was a child. I wasn’t driving myself to school. My father would usually do…

Why the fuck is that the default result? In this economy?

Anyway. The price of the seat to hang onto the wing without a bag is $3k, so I might just take out a loan against the house and take the $10k ticket.

At least then I could lie down while I sob at 30,000 feet.

Edit:

Several people recommended looking into bereavement tickets, and I can’t sleep so I made some phone calls. The flight they offered me was $15k lol.

Turns out those tickets aren’t about cheaper rates but about getting you the most direct route with the flexibility to cancel without incurring any fees. So. Thank you for the advice but I think I’ll just shove my peasant $3k economy ticket on a credit card and suffer.

We're not sure what kind, but it's not pneumonia.

They also think he has regular dementia at this point because despite numerous scans, the cancer hasn't spread much outside of his lung and one spot in his liver.

She won't phrase it quite like that. But it'll be implied.

I found out yesterday that dad's chemo isn't working and the cancer has spread to his liver. The doctor's told my parents not to worry about it, which feels like medical speak for, "the end is in sight so we're no longer concerned."

I'm not sure if I'm handling this news well or if I'm still just kinda numb about the whole thing. We knew the cancer was aggressive. We knew this was always the outcome. We just hoped he'd have a little longer.

He also managed to fall and break his ribs yesterday, which I'm infinitely more upset about because it means he's in pain and I hate that. I hate that he fell because he injured himself weeks ago by trying to help my brother, and that injury left him unstable on his feet and now it's resulted in a fall that broke his ribs.

It doesn't bode well for my mother who is much frailer and is soon to be my brother's only carer because social work have deemed my brother doesn't need care despite him being completely unable to move at all without physical assistance. It truly feels like the social worker assigned to them just hates them and is waiting for my dad to die before they do anything.

Even the Beatson nurses who come to the house for my dad are appalled at the lack of care and help my family has received for my brother.

And I know, in reality, I wouldn't be much help there on my own. I know my own disabilities wouldn't let me self sacrifice to the extent needed to give them peace, and I'd end up also requiring care if I tried to do the things they needed. But there's part of me that really wishes I could be there in help even if the more rational part of my brain knows that way is the path to self-destruction.

I cannot be the person they need, because I did it for too long as a child and young adult, and now I am also a very disabled adult who cannot care for them. That is a fact.