What I've lost

A personal update

I haven’t figured out yet how to restart this newsletter.

I think it’s because I don’t know how to explain, or to even understand for myself, what I’ve lost over the last few months.

My dad is fine after his stroke. He’s home, after a 39 day stay in 3 different hospitals. He’s been home for 2 weeks now. He’s walking and talking, but he has a long road ahead to see how much function he can get back.

While my dad is fine, I am not.

I lost two months of my life so I could try to help him live.

I spent nearly every day in the hospital with him. Sitting by his side for hours, meeting with hospitalists, neurologists, nurses, speech therapists, physical therapists, occupational therapists, social workers, hospital managers, and more. Taking notes to relay to my family. Taking him for head CTs, X-Rays, and MRIs. Chasing down hospital records. Watching him become paralyzed and thinking he was going to die. Feeding him when he no longer could feed himself. Filing a complaint when he was left paralyzed, hungry, and dehydrated over a weekend at a rehab facility. Convincing him to go back to emerg instead of accepting death. Chasing down his legal paperwork, then acting as his Power of Attorney. Fighting for him to get care instead of giving up as he moved from ambulance to emerg to hospital admission to rehab, then back to emerg, back to hospital admission, to a different rehab facility, and finally home.

I spent every day telling him every day that even though it sucks right now – and it’s okay that it sucks – he will get better, and one day it won’t suck. I spent my time redoing his bathroom so it’s accessible. Taking his car for repair. Paying his bills. And now that he’s home I am picking up his medications. Taking him to the doctor, taking him for more head CTs, taking him for groceries, hiring a snow removal service…

The list goes on, and does not include managing the entirely unnecessary family drama.

I am glad I could do this for my dad. If I didn’t spend hours arguing with him to go to emerg on October 12, he very likely could have died. If I was not there advocating for his care for 39 days to figure out why he suddenly went from walking to fully paralyzed (it was inflammation, not a second stroke), he likely would have never made it home.

But being there is not easy and it comes at a cost, one I am only reckoning with now.

I lost two months of my life.

I lost my boyfriend, who was my best friend, who I miss. I lost two months working on my business – and missed the entire holiday market season. I lost a grant for my business, because I couldn’t complete the work while spending my days in the hospital. I lost the bakery I was going to open – a dream I’ve always had, but the math no longer math’d. I lost my relationship with my sister, which was already damaged but is now irreparable. I lost the safety net of a reliable parent who is independent, who could solve problems for me, who I now need to solve problems for, and be reliable for.

I lost my sense of humour.

I lost my joy.

I lost my desire to cook and bake.

I lost myself.

I feel bad writing about it, because it will make my dad feel bad if he reads this. But this isn’t his fault. I chose to give up part of my life so he could live, and that’s a worthwhile trade. I would do it again.

And before you get too worried, I’m fine. I mean, I’m very not fine, but I know that it will get better one day, but it sucks right now. I have been through periods of depression, and this isn’t depression. This is grief. Everything I thought I knew about the world, my relationships, and myself has changed. I don’t know what it means for me yet.

I wish I could skip this part, where, instead of telling you how hurt I am, I just crack a joke about how I’m a Chicken Breast Gay now – but I want to pivot that whole story to center around my friend (and now roommate) Marci, not about my now ex. I want to share with you how I’ve lost over 50lbs and I’m running faster than I did 10 years ago – but I want to pivot that whole story to be about health, and how I don’t want to have a stroke, or die of colon cancer – and how it’s not (only) about fitting into my clothes.

I want to tell you about what it’s like to start a food business, but I don’t even know if I want to have a food business anymore. Because a food business is hard, and while we can do hard things, sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I stopped doing life on hard mode all the time?

But is that the right thing to give up?

Or am I just tired, and grieving, and numb?

It’s tough to talk about these things. They’re messy, complicated, and often dark topics.

When I try to talk about this with friends, I feel like I’m not allowed space for uncertainty. I get pep talks, as if this is one bad day where I don’t believe in myself. I believe in myself, I am just miserable, and one day I won’t be. But today I am.

When I try to talk about it online, I get bullied because my problems are not the ones people care about – and how dare I share my pain, or my business, or really anything, when the world is at war and the world is on fire.

So, I am going to start sharing with you all again. But I felt like I had to share this first, so that I can move on from this chapter.

I’m not sure what happens in the next chapter, but we’re going to find out.

Marko