Sunday, January 13, 2013
For the past few days I have been at the hospital visiting my daughter's father. He is 38 years old and suffering from liver failure and a host of other problems associated with it. His name is Charles.
Charles has been a heavy drinker for years. He suffers from extreme anxiety and depression. Alcohol was/is his vice to cope.
As I've been sitting by his bed watching him struggle to breathe I think to myself, "It didn't have to be like this, he's so young." These days someone in their 50-60's is young. Charles is a baby.
So as I'm coping with this and trying to be strong for my daughter, the reality of not taking care of yourself, of using addictions as coping mechanisms, of ignoring signs and pain for years, is smacking me in the face.
Tonight I am lying in bed and my legs are bloated. I have been dealing with this and pain in my legs for over a year. I can barely walk 5 minutes without being winded. The list of things I can't do gets longer and longer by the day. I am 36 years old. I am a baby too. I don't want to be lying in a hospital bed in two years begging for air like Charles did today.
Most importantly, I don't want my daughter to have to bury 2 parents by the time she is 25.
That's why I'm here. It can't be too late for me. But I need help. I am fiercely independent, always thinking I can do things on my own. I am admitting defeat. I am waving the white flag. I need help. I am willing to work and travel the long road to health, knowing that the road to health is in the opposite direction of the inevitable hospital bed I will end up in if I don't start this journey now.