The past couple of days have been pretty darn good. Yesterday I drove my father 3 hours to his psychiatric appointment. That morning, before we headed off, he was rambling on and on. I started typing in my notes on my phone so I wouldn’t forget this- he said, “Wittle is baby talk. People leave off the L because they feel bad for all their superiority on Earth. Being proprietary of the earthquakes and hurricanes and such sadness.” Hmmm. Well then.
After the appointment, we then headed back towards his home, not “our” home, but the lonely empty house he’d been existing in. I say existing, because he wasn’t living. I’m so tired of Toby freaking Keith!
My father woke up at 2:00 this morning ready to go to town. I went back to bed. He admitted this morning at 7:00 that being ready to go to town and buy stuff at 2:00 am is a manic behavior. At least he’s recognizing it. He’s doing a wonderful job of reeling it all in. Of course, I have his keys and his checkbook, so he wouldn’t have gotten far.
He’d been meaning to get his sump pump installed for the past 8 years. We got it done today. Triumph.
One triumph for me is that I was able to obtain a copy of a cat scan he had right before this last manic episode happened. I had to cancel his pet scan since I had placed him into a psych ward. Now with the copy, I can start over with an awesome Pulmonary Doctor I know. What I haven’t mentioned in any of my writings yet, is that my father has a nodular spot on his lung. It’s creeping into my mind every second. It’s starting to creep into his as well. Every pound he keeps losing, he tells me he thinks Mr. Cancer is knocking on his door.
As if Bipolar Disorder isn’t cruel enough. Shit. Positive thoughts Chantel. Positive thoughts.
For all the times my father causes some form of discomfort to me, there’s a million other little things he does that can turn that around. I overheard him on the phone last night telling his cousin that he’s now living in the happiest place on Earth.
Today while eating dinner my father retold me a story. I dared not interrupt and tell him he’s already told me. I love this story.
People with manic episodes often dream about flying. My father told me that I am the only person he’s ever taken with him on flight. One he specifically remembers very well, is that he took me as a child around the age of three to the edge of Earth’s atmosphere. He said that I tugged on the back of his shirt and said, “daddy it’s too cold here”, so he immediately flew me back down.
However the plan lies out before us, we will deal. We will be ready. In my father’s words, ” We stay on the FM Circuitry. FM stands for F’ing Magic in case you didn’t know.”
Photo Credit: My daughter, Rowan.