So, I was doing some school shit on my pc and I hear this weird noise...don't really think much of it and go back to work. Maybe 45. min later I decide I should go to bed, so I shut 'er all down and go outside to smoke before my shower/brush teeth nightly combo. Walk outside (lucky break because I usually go out the back), light a smoke, turn around to go back in to get my iPod, and a shock goes through my body; There's a mangle fucking arm sticking out of the bush. Holy shit, it's moving. Holy shit, it's my dad!
See, when I went back to do my second degree about a year ago, the commute between work, school, and home was a total bitch. I moved back into my parent's place, which was sweet because a.) no rent, b.) they don't live here maybe 80% of the time because they have another house on Vancouver Island that they spend most of their time in and they're half retired. C.) They need someone to do upkeep and my dad is too "sick". See, he had prostate cancer. He was diagnosed a few years ago and underwent radiation and hormone therapy to get rid of it. Now, it's a better combo than chemo, but that doesn't mean it's good, especially when you're in your sixties. Under the treatment he lost a lot of muscle mass, and his bones, joints, and muscles are pretty much fucked.
He was in town because my mom had to be at the airport this morning and so he came in with her to avoid having to leave a car in long term parking. He stays here a couple days, does some business, picks her up when she gets in and they go back to the island. Great plan.
I guess he was rearranging a plant or something and slipped off some stairs, except he landed on a few rocks and some pottery. Banged the fuck out of his head, sliced his neck, banged up his arm and ribs, and managed to dislocate, maybe break two fingers BAD. So, when his arm was sticking out of the bush all I could really see was two fingers out of 5 bent at the craziest angles I have seen, and I've seen people dislocate their fingers a few times.
As I helped him up/out, it's apparent that he hit his head hard. It's like he's hammered but not - bad concussion. The slice in his neck looked nasty, but right away you can tell it's not (thank god). So, we argue over him going to the hospital for like 5 min before I have to drop the hammer and announce that it's not a motherfucking argument anymore; he's going or I'm calling the ambulance and if he tries to straighten his fingers I'm just going to break them again. Uh, he's really stubborn and you have to threaten shit like this so the only option seems like the best. I literally fireman carry him to my car because he can't really walk and we go to the hospital. My main concern at this point is the concussion and the fact that one of the two fingers is his ring finger. I'm worried that even if he does straighten it, it'll just swell and get the circulation cut off because of the wedding ring.
Luckily, it was dead empty, so we got in and had doctors all over us immediately. Obviously, he's playing shit down but the doctors can tell he's either shit faced or concussed. They do the proper testing, bandage him up, and send him in to get his fingers dealt with. One isn't a problem, they just pop it back in (his shoulder was apparently half out as well...if you don't notice that you've definitely concussed yourself bad). The other is a huge issue because of the wedding ring. Eventually, they have to call the fire department in and cut it off. As he's going into x-ray, he tells me I should just go and get to sleep, no point in us both being stuck in the hospital. I don't really want to, but I do it because you can tell he just kind of feels awkward about the whole thing and would rather go solo.
So, I go home, get some books and shit, stop to get a coffee, and go back to the hospital because I decide I really don't want to leave him there, and if he gets discharged even with the concussion, I don't think he can walk well enough to get down these pretty ruthless granite stairs he'd have to hit up on the way to the front door. Yeah, but he's not there. Motherfucker is on the lam. They did the x-rays, bandaged him up some more, gave him some shots, and did some more concussion/shock tests. He got agitated and just left to go get a cab. Thank god I slipped his cell phone into his pocket when I gave him his wallet (you need a care card for hospitals here because of medicare) before leaving the house. I call him, pick him up, drive him home, and help him in. I ask him if he still has the ring....searches his pockets....no.
Shit. My mom is going to lose her shit. I get him to check his pockets like three times, I check the car, and after he's in bed, I drive out to the hospital and check in to make sure he was actually discharged. He wasn't, but they give me the run down; tape his fingers, shit like that. They didn't say jack about the concussion, so I don't really know if I'm supposed to be waking him up. I then bust out my cellphone with it's LED flashlight and start fucking scouring the streets. After roughly an hour and a half I give up and drive home. Check in to see if he's breathing, and check his back pocket....oh, hey look; wedding ring. The shitty part about that is I don't know if he found it in there after I left, but either way I have to lie about it and say I found it on the street so he doesn't feel like an idiot.
So, now it's 4:30 in the morning, I'm wired and about to wake him up under the false pretence that I want to tell him about his ring. No way am I getting into work tomorrow, which may be a shit storm, and I have a huge presentation at school tomorrow followed up by another three hours of class. I'm very glad that he's alright, but worried. What if I hadn't gone out that way? What if he was on the island or I wasn't here? A few months ago, his hip joint locked up and he went down in the living room while here. I don't know how long he was down for, but when I first saw him I pretended I didn't see anything just in case he could get back up right away. Waited a few min and he was still down so I went in to offer help, which he adamantly refused a few times. I finally got him up and into his room, but when I went back into the living room, furniture was moved all over the room. I never told my mom or anyone else, but I really don't like the idea of her having to deal with this or no one being around to help one time. It's depressing, but that motherfucker is so goddamn stubborn. I might have to collude with my sister about having an intervention to get him to go to some kind of professional therapy. If she doesn't specifically mention any "incidents" he might just take her advice as someone with a nursing degree and a masters in health something or other. Otherwise, I CAN'T really leave him like he is.
Fuck me.
