I talked to my doctor yesterday about my father’s health. Mostly in the hope that she’d give me a definite timeframe for his death. She didn’t, of course, but she did say that it doesn’t sound like he’ll live much longer.
She said that either he’ll develop an allergy to the blood transfusions, as many patients do, and die a long, slow and painful death – or, because he’s been an alcoholic for much of his life, and has a number of co-morbid conditions, one of his blood vessels will burst and he’ll be gone in about four minutes.
The doctor said long and slow isn’t nice, but given what he’s put me through would be satisfying (for her, more than me, I suspect). I must have said something about not seeking revenge because she quoted me an old Chinese proverb: those who seek revenge dig two graves.
I do believe that to be true. I guess it’s why I don’t seek revenge. I don’t need that negative energy. Ever since starting therapy I’ve noticed I have a decreased tolerance for negative forces. I guess I have absorbed enough from my abusers to generate enough within myself, and don’t need to create any more. That’s not to say that revenge isn’t definitely sweet, and I support any survivor who needs it. It’s just not for me.
Anyway, the father is being sent home from hospital tomorrow. I guess another episode in his dance with death is over.
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Somehow in telling this story I seem to have dismissed the fact that I told my doctor about all the heinous sh*t from my past. I was nervous, and I cried, but I did it. I’m glad I did – she was empathetic, and showed an appropriate amount of disgust towards my father.
I know I should be pleased with myself for having this courage, but somehow I have glossed over it and got caught up in the other stuff that’s going on. Same old story, I suppose, neglecting myself in all this.