Not a good call

I got off the phone with my mother a while back and my father went to the hospital today. He is back home now, but must go in for tests tomorrow and surgery on Wednesday. At least I am on rest days and I had booked a vacation day for that day, so I shall drive out.

Dad had gone in for Lasik eye work a while ago and he'd had a bad reaction...a detachment. The doctor made sure that he was prone in the vehicle as he was driven to the hospital for the check up so as to not do any more damage. That's how bad it was.

I wrote of guilt the other day and there it comes again. I guess I am feeling now how they felt every day for the longest time with me when I was ill. They need not have done so of course, as they did nothing wrong.

My parents came to this country from Europe with nothing and basically learned the language on their own. Mom was so young and it must have been so scary. Back in those days when you left, you were gone. You came with whatever goods you could pack into a couple of trunks. To make a long distance phone call you had to get on the phone with the operator and book an appointment. The link was always terrible. I doubt anybody now remembers telegrams, but they existed for a reason. When they got here, Dad became ill and had to spend half a year in a TB ward. It was a shameful thing, as only poor people got that disease. Mom found a job in a hospital and then visited him daily after her shift. It was a long, hard recovery.

Years later, my Dad developed cancer. It was one of those ones that most people died from. Through absolute tenacity he made it. But it was so hard to go in to visit him. In days he went from this big, strong guy to a man weighing nothing. He refused morphine as he didn't like how it messed with his head and he had a theory that he needed his faculties to fight it. I had to shut down to go in to visit him. I didn't want him to see that it hurt to visit. I have become really good at doing that with my job.

Mom worked as a cleaning lady despite arthritis. They gave her this thing called "gold treatment shots" (layman's term) to treat it. The side effect almost killed her. The doctor said that had she not gone to the hospital when she did, she had hours to live. Her blood platelet count was almost nothing and she wasn't clotting.

They have gone through so much and really deserve to enjoy their retirement, yet I never see them sitting still. Always worrying about others and fussing around.

Ah, guilt. Me and my shadow, as the song goes. I may be healthy weight wise, but I can never forgive myself. I will go and visit and hope that all is well.