I haven’t blogged in a while. My dad is in the final stages of mesothelioma and it’s been a rough week. He was rushed to the hospital because he couldn’t breathe. Stayed a week. Transferred to a rehab facility–which I’m pretty sure he thinks is a nursing home. He’ll only be there a few weeks and then we will take him home. I wish he believed that.
Thankfully, I was present for most of the scary moments. The moments he thought he was done. We talked about fear–he said he had none. He said he wished he could somehow report back. It was heart-wrenching. I stayed with him overnight that night. We were both shocked that he was still here in the morning.
The weekend this happened I was taking the Y12SR program (Yoga for 12 step recovery). I managed to stay and take the entire program so now I am able to hold space for meetings/practices in my community. Nikki Meyers is a goddess. She got me through this hellacious weekend of torture. I battled myself every moment wondering if I should leave or stay. Ultimately, I stayed. I needed to learn what she was teaching because deep down I knew I’d be able to use it for my father’s benefit. And I did.
Since then, I found a sponsor. A lovely woman with decades of sobriety. Our first conversation was an hour by phone on my way to the hospital. It was like we knew each other and I knew I was safe. I met with her yesterday for the first time. We sat in her backyard among the trees and flowers and blistering 95 degree sun. Both of us worship the sun so it was ok. We talked for three hours. I told her some of my story, she told me some of hers. I read my step one homework to her, and she showed me hers from way back when. I began to see things in my past that I hadn’t seen as alcohol-driven before. Things from when I was 15. Things I hadn’t given much thought to. Connections. “Ah-ha!” things.
Then I looked at my phone. My sister had texted and said my dad was at the rehab center and my mom was asking when I would be there. My heart started to race. I wasn’t sure. When I’m done with this? I don’t know. My car was in the shop as well being worked on. Then I see the message from my mechanic, “Call me.” I asked my sponsor if she’d mind if I called him quickly. She didn’t.
$900. NINE HUNDRED DOLLARS. Fuck.
Oh well, I’d figure it out. The most important thing right then was that I was with my sponsor and I was working on my sobriety so screw everything else for the moment. Get back to it. We talked for another 1/2 hour or so and suddenly my stomach started to gurgle. Was it the heat? I didn’t feel good. I asked to use her bathroom and barely made it. That afternoon everything that was inside of me came out. Literally and figuratively.
The drive to the rehab center is one I won’t forget. I was shaky, scattered, weak. Like something was seriously happening to me. Something horrible. I felt like a junkie. Like I was detoxing. I had all the symptoms. I wanted to pull over and call an ambulance. Check in to a rehab center myself. But I kept driving. I focused my eyes and drove.
I was detoxing. I am detoxing. My life will never be the same. I am purging. I am stopping the drug. The drug of ego. The drug of masks. The drug of justification. The drug of lies. The drug of comfort. The drug of junk.
Here we go.
7 thoughts on “My Junk”
I am so happy for you.
I did the online part of the y12s program. I think it has so much good.
Embrace it all. You are allowing yourself to be who you are.
Hugs and love
Ditto, i’m also dealing with my Dad’s final stages of mesothelioma!! We’re taking him home from the hospital tomorrow so he can spend his last days there. I can relate to being present during the entire process. It’s heartbreaking to watch what used to be a very fit and healthy man, in 2 weeks, be days from death. Sob 😦 Good luck with your Dad. Hang in there, you’re not alone.
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Wow. Just when I feel like I’m totally alone something like THIS happens. thank you Michelle. We hope to get my dad home by the end of the week. He is getting despondent and caustic…almost mean to me. And it’s hard not to take it personally, you know? It has to be hell on earth for him. Best of luck with your dad. You’ll be in my thoughts. 🙏
Just a quick update for you…..Dad lost his battle with Mesothelioma on Tuesday night. It was actually lovely, Mum, my brother and I were there with him. It was expected and peaceful but no less shocking seeing death right before your eyes. I hope your Dad is doing ok. I know mine is now at peace. Take care, Michelle.
Oh Michele…my heart breaks for you and your family. I’m so happy you were with him and it was a peaceful transition. If you don’t mind my asking, was he at home? My dad will be coming home in a couple weeks from rehab—but he’s just withdrawing now, and it’s killing us to watch. Please, if in the coming weeks you find you need a friendly understanding shoulder, reach out any time. Im here. 🙏❤️
Yes he was at home. We managed to get him there Tuesday afternoon so we set him up on a hospital bed in the lounge so he could look out at his farm and dogs. It’s winter in NZ so we had the fire on and my 3 sons had a post school visit (my eldest, 8, read him a story) and then they went home so it was just Mum and I. The night nurse suggested we call my brother as she could tell the end was near and within 20 mins of my brother arriving he died. It was perfect actually. We couldn’t have asked for a better ending. It’s an ironic twist as he was diagnosed with the very rare BPDCN cancer in December of 2016 so I came over to Houston with them for 6 months and he entered a trial at the MD Anderson Cancer Hospital and was cured of that one. He then had a stem cell transplant here in NZ and we thought we’d get at least another 10 or so years with him. But then he was struck down with another rare cancer – he seemed to specialise in rare…..not helpful! Thanks for your offer, the same applies 🙂 Take care.
Wow. Your description is beautiful.