the not so tough tough girl

i always thought it was ironic that people assume i'm so tough. they see me, covered in tattoos and a pretty even demeanor and think, "she's a tough girl." to an extent i like to agree with that statement. i look back at a lot of things that have happened just in the last year. it all started with my dad was falling out of bed and yelled to my mom for help, startled out of her sleep she fell out of her bed and face planted into the tile floor. she shattered her humerus (upper arm) and busted her nose. i got the call and rushed to the emergency room. when i got there she was covered in blood and holding her arm yelling that she was going to divorce my dad when she got home (empty threats). diagnosis was she had to have surgery so they cold place a metal plate in her arm to stabilize the bone. her surgery was scheduled for a week later which was of course the day my roommate and i were moving into our new apartment. i spent the rest of that week working, packing, and going to my parent's house to help take care of not only my mom, but my dad who she always took care of. it was exhausting to say the least. the rest of my family was with her the day of her surgery so i could move. the next morning i went to see her and spent the night at the hospital with her. when she came home my sister and i tag teamed taking care of our parents. the first time i had to bathe my mom she cried so i did everything i could to make her laugh and as she laughed through her tears i cried on the inside. three months into her recovery my sister and i were mentally and physically exhausted and angela, being someone who has always struggled just to get herself through life had been brought to her limit. on more then one occasion she called me crying and hyperventilating because she couldn't take it anymore. panic attacks had become a regular burden. i would try to relax her and we would breath together on the phone until the rhythm of our breaths became equal and steady. she would cry and say she was sorry for doing this to me. i always did everything to reassure her that there's nothing else in this world more important to me then her being ok. a week later she asked me to come over. she sat me down outside with her boyfriend and told me that she finally went to the doctor like i recommended and her doctor told her if she didn't go straight home and tell two people what she told her she'd have to go to the hospital. she was getting choked up and teary eyed. i grabbed her hand, looked at her, and asked, "what happened?" she said, "i wrote a letter because everyday i don't know how to go on and no longer have the will to try. i think my heart actually stopped for a few seconds. without even feeling the tears streaming down my face i pleaded with her not to leave me alone and for two hours we talked about how to make things better. suicide watch with my sister lasted for three months. i only remember it being that long because my dad went back into the hospital three months later. this time he had a pacemaker put in. a month after returning home he went to the doctor for shortness of breath and she admitted him that day back into the hospital. fluid had built up in his lungs again, which had happened quite a few times in the past because of his congestive heart failure. after they drained 12 pounds of fluid from his lungs he came home. he was only home for about 5 or 6 days when my sister called me. she was irate on the phone because my dad was having trouble breathing again and my mom wanted to give him dinner before they went to the hospital. i told her to calm down and i would call mom to see what was going on. angela was not home that night. i called my mom and she explained that dad was short of breath. she was smart to give him dinner first because as a diabetic and a man who takes 12 pills a day he had to eat and get some insulin in him. she asked me to come over so i rushed there. it was january 28th. when i got there i looked at his face and i knew he was exhausted and hurting. i called 911 and they came to help us. by law they have to take him to the nearest hospital which was resurrection and i refuse to let him go there again because they almost killed him last time and my friend's dad died there in the past year. so they cleared him to be stable enough to let me drive him to his regular hospital. it took half an hour to get him to the car. he panted and paused as we stood in the snow. after i got both of my parents in the car and my dad's oxygen on him i closed the door and looked up at one of the emts. he looked at me and said this is the last time you should ever do this by yourself, it's too much. little did i know he was right. that was the last time my dad ever sat in his car or our house. he died a week later in the hospital. the week that led up to his death was one of the hardest in my life. he had been in and out of hospitals for years and always bounced back, but that whole week things just got worse. his sugar dropped to 27 when it should be at least in the 90's. he couldn't speak and was covered in sweat, my mom and i stood in the hallway watching people run in and out of the room. i squeezed my mom's hand and said everything is ok as long as they don't call a code. seconds later i heard the nurse yell out, "should i call code blue?" i squeezed my mom's hand and held my breath until i heard someone reply to her with a no. (exhale) after that day he was never fully right, to this day i think he suffered a bit of brain damage from not having enough sugar to fuel his brain. when he looked at me it was almost as if his eyes looked straight through me into the distance, like he was seeing something that no one else could. i went to see him everyday up until the day he died. the night before i let my mom go home and i stayed with him. i rubbed his shoulders and tried to help him be more comfortable, he just stared at me and then at the tv screen. when i left i said goodbye and kissed him on the cheek, but for some reason i forget to tell him i love you. the next day they brought him downstairs to run a test and he died on the table. the next few weeks were a blur and i could only recall certain details.
so as i sit back and think about all of this that happened only in an 11 month period i agree. i am a pretty tough girl. yet, at the same time these things have slowly chipped away at me and taken a lot of that strength. so i think that now, more then ever i am sensitive and fragile at times and as much as i hate to admit it, hurt easily. you may never see me show it, but that doesn't mean that i don't need or deserve the same respects as everyone else. i can handle rejection and i can handle the truth i can't handle being left without a clue of what happened because i don't have the strength back yet to figure it out on my own.


*this is not what i would consider a good writing piece, nor was it intended to be a sob story. it was just something that i guess i needed to say.