Today I am thankful for feeling sick to the point of numbness.
How to kill a Covid patient:
Bring his children into the hospital room....
(at least they showed a small bit of mercy by allowing visitors)
Start a morphine drip....
and then decrease the oxygen flow until it flows no more.
This will happen to my uncle in twenty minutes.
They will start the procedure three minutes after his daughters arrive.
Do I dare tell my relatives that pneumothorax is treatable?
Of course not, knowing my uncle, he would have Googled it.
Besides, after talking to him in the cemetery on the day he buried Judy, I know that he did not want to live in a world without her. This sounds more peaceful than driving his RV off of a cliff as he hinted to me that day. .
Just so everyone knows, when one is 78, this condition has a 42% survival rate. The younger one is, the higher the survival rate.
That is better than 0%.
Damn.....
I'm sure my mom, grandparents and aunties will be there to greet him.
They'll probably be behind Millie, the beagle he had when I was a toddler.
This blows.
My world death count for 2020 is now 14.
Too many funerals.....
far too many.
The black dresses keep getting smaller and smaller because it's really hard to eat when I'm freaked out.
I guess it's time to forgive the tiny shit that people have done over the years that have hurt me. Typically, I just door slam people when they publicly humiliate me or embarrass me without remorse.
Maybe I ought to be more present for people (even the assholes).
Life is far too short.
I'm off to light a 7 day votive for my uncle.
Love ya,
S.
NEXT DAY EDIT:
It is my joy to report that the doctors are going to give my uncle a couple more days to see if his condition improves.
Prayers are answered. Halleluiah!
EDIT TWO DAYS LATER
He died this afternoon with his daughters by his side. They are going into quarantine before we'l get to have a funeral.
I guess I'll be toting a ton of flowers to the Arvada Cemetery around the end of the year.
This bites.