I’m ready for my beating, Mr. DeMille

I’m about to do the well-nigh impossible. But I’m going to do it anyway.

My dad is ill, and it’s not one of those things that’s going to go away on its own. He’s at that age, where not only do serious things start to happen, but it’s harder for him to deal with things he could have shaken off years ago.


On top of this, it turns out that — other than my mother — I am the only medical proxy and surrogate. So I get the job of making end-of-life decisions, if he can’t do it for himself.

Oh, this is not much fun at all.

And I need to travel to see my family — the ones who are highly tactile (ouch) and demonstrative (ouch) and get even moreso when they are nervous and/or afraid (OUCH).

So, I fully expect things to be physically painful, as well as emotionally and mentally excruciating.

I also have to talk to doctors, get my parents set up with the formal supports they need to weather out the coming weeks and months and (hopefully) years. My dad could bounce back and rally from this. He’s done it before. It’s in his nature, and it wouldn’t surprise me.

But I’m a day’s drive away from my parents, and I need to have at least some assurance that they’ve got the proper pieces in place to live their lives.

Access to the medical portal, so they can contact their doctors securely.

Meds all organized.

Medical information in a place where anybody who needs it can find it. Right now, it’s in a filing cabinet drawer in my mother’s sewing room, which is not intuitive at all.

Insurance situation at least partly sorted out. (How much is this going to cost them, anyway? Jesus Christ, I hate to think of it.)

And getting them used to the idea of “looping me in” on their thinking processes. Both of my parents are highly spectrumy — I get my autism honestly — and their first impulse is to withdraw into themselves and figure it out alone. They’re at a point where that’s just not happening as effectively as it used to. So, they have to get used to me being part of their decision-making process.

That last bit is going to be the hardest, because my parents have never really trusted my judgment. I’m in a different part of the spectrum than they, and they don’t trust differences. It’s hard. I just don’t want their lives cut short, because they can’t loosen up a bit.

But who knows what will happen?

I’m probably not going to be blogging much, over the next week. I have to save my energy. I need to withdraw, myself.

I’m getting myself all set up, this morning, to travel this afternoon and evening. It’s an 8-9 hour drive, and I have my semi-disabled partner to get squared away, as well. She has serious mobility and pain issues, which makes the trip miserable for her and will naturally extend the travel time. But we’ll have those hours in the car together, so I’m fine with it. We just need to get there safely.

My routine is going to be completely screwed up for the next 5 days. And I will be inundated with social interaction. My parents have a lot of friends from church who are around a lot. They’re hyposensitive, where I’m hypersensitive, so they crave stimulation and activity and constant, constant talking. Oh my fucking god. Well, I can’t worry about it. I’ll just lock-down, I’ll keep what routine I can — I’m taking my dumbells so I can do my lifting exercises each morning — and I’ll do my best to keep steady, sleep when I can, step away when I can. I’ve done this drill in years past with my parents-in-law, and I know what to expect. And I do a much better job of taking care of myself now, than I ever did before.

So, it is what it is. Just gotta get moving.

I’m ready for my beating, Mr. DeMille.


8 thoughts on “I’m ready for my beating, Mr. DeMille

  1. There has literally NEVER been something you couldn’t handle. Think of the last thing that you thought was going to “kill you” because it was so horrible. Think of how you “knew” you could never get through it. But you did! You have to, that’s all there is to it. Somehow, someway, you will find a way to fight through this. It may be the hardest journey yet; but you can and you WILL get through it! Take time for YOU and do what is best for YOU (sometimes), this will allow you to help others. Don’t be afraid to express your boundaries, everyone has them. You’ve got this!

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Lotta hugs. I was dpoa for my mom going down with a broken hip and major strokes into 5 years of nursing home, and my dad at odds with everyone the entire time. In many ways the experience was horrible, but one of my sweetest memories of my mom comes from that time. I’m terribly autie, never purposely hugged or ran to her for comfort as a child, fought with her as a teen, argued with her as an adult, and through all that she never threw me out of her life. Years into the nursing home after strokes ripped away her ability to speak and remember, our eyes met for the first time like a big secret we were grinning about, and in that moment I knew exactly that was THE moment I had waited for all my life, and I felt very fortunate to get it. Nothing in the way, no judgement, no trying to correct the wayward child, just recognition and love. All the pain was worth that moment. Also, I know it’s super hard, but there is something about being spectrumy that prompts us more (I think) to do the right thing no matter what, and even though it’s emotionally very uncomfortable and feels physically impossible, we are the ones who stick through the thick and thin. We are good people for other people. We may not feel good about it, but because we exist, things in this world go a little bit better for others. ❤ I hope your stuff rolls out as smoothly as possible for you.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. VisualVox

      Thank you so much for your thoughts, Janika. I really appreciate it. I share a lot of your qualities – a lot of the same was true with my Dad and me. And now, finally, after all these years, he’s finally seeing just what I’m capable of. It takes work from both our sides, but I’ve felt for decades that I was doing most of the work, and now it seems he’s willing to meet me half-way, which is amazing. He’s going great, I’m helping him think through all the different considerations of diagnosis and treatment and dealing with doctors, as well as getting him and my mom set up with systems that will support him. He’s on the medical portal, now, so he can email his doctor. And his best friend, who is a physician, himself, has gotten a chance to see the MRI imaging with my 3DViewer, which provides a lot more detail and understanding.

      I’ve disappointed my folks in nearly every other way. There’s no helping that. But in a jam — when things get really bad — I’m the best friend they have. That’s objective fact, and I think the finally see that.

      So, this is a really special weekend for all of us. Not our favorite reason, but still a rare chance to connect with me when I get to use my greatest strengths.

      Thanks again for sharing your story. It’s very powerful. I think I’ll cry about it, when I get home and decompress a little bit. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Pingback: Back from one beating… on to the next – Aspie Under Your Radar

  4. Pingback: Getting to the #stoic good | The Tip of My Asperger's

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