Inspired by Dooce's "Oh my god our plumbing is fucked cookie" I bring you Depression Dessert:

1)Crumble one package of graham crackers in baking dish, or if you like to be ghetto like me, use a tupperware container.
2)Make one box of chocolate instant pudding according to the package directions. Pour over graham crackers. (If you are using cooked pudding make sure you let it cool a little first.) Place in fridge.
3)Mix large amounts of peanut putter and marshmallow fluff together. Spread over chocolate pudding (once it has set up).
4)Layer thinly sliced bananas on top of the fluffernutter mixture.
5)Drizzle with chocolate sauce or melted chocolate (I used a melted milk chocolate bar).

If you are really depressed you may also want to add one or all of the following:
M&M's
Caramel sauce
Toasted Coconut
A crushed up candy bar of your choice.
Rum

ENJOY!

Posted by torrie at 08:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (14)

My father is the featured obituary in today's New York Times.
Here's the article.

There's also an article in one of the North Carolina newspapers.
Here's the article.
(This link is no longer active)

I'll continue to update as more articles come out.

Posted by torrie at 03:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (15)

My dad died on Saturday.

I visited him on Friday (my birthday) and he wasn't doing very well. I asked him if he wanted me to cancel my weekend trip and he said to me "That's the last thing I want you to do. Go have fun."
I spoke to his doctor and asked her if I should cancel my trip and she said "I haven't placed him on critical watch yet, so I think he'll be fine through the weekend." I asked her how much longer she thought he had and she said "A week. Two weeks top."

I sat in the chair next to my dad's bed and wept while he was sleeping.

I kissed my dad on the forehead, said I would be back Monday morning, told him I loved him, and left the hospital.

I reluctantly left for my trip to Massachusetts on Friday night. II was supposed to sing at the Guthrie Center on Saturday night. It took us 4 1/2 hours to drive there, through pouring rain. We got there at 11:30pm.

On Saturday morning at 10am I got a call from the hospital saying that my dad's blood pressure was low and they were going to place him on critical watch to be cautious. I asked his doctor if I should drive back and she said "If you're asking me if I think he'll die today the answer is no, but there's always a possibility. Why don't you call me back at 3:00 to check on him because I will have re-evaluated him by then."
At 3pm I called and the nurse told me the doctor wouldn't be available until 4pm.
At 4pm I was breast feeding Willa when the phone rang. It was the hospital calling to tell me my father had died.

My first instinct was to feel guilty about the fact that my father died alone.

But the more people I talk to, the more I'm starting to believe that my father didn't want me to watch him die.

My nephew told me that when I was out of the room when we visited him on Wednesday, my father said to him "I'm in a lot of pain. I don't have much longer. Don't tell Torrie , I don't want to ruin her Birthday."

Another thing that in a strange way made me feel better is that my dad's dog died on Thursday. He was nine years old, had no known medical problems, and had just been walking around and wagging his tail that morning. He just went to sleep and didn't wake up. Thursday was the day my dad really started to go downhill (I think he waited until Saturday to let go because he didn't want to ruin my Birthday). I think his dog just didn't want to live without him. We didn't tell my father that his dog died. They are together now.

I have spent the last three days visiting the funeral home, writing lists, making DOZENS of phone calls, and planning two memorial services. All with a baby suckling at my breast. You can't imagine how hard it is to call people and tell them that their friend died. My dad had a lot of friends.

I am on auto-pilot. I don't think it's really sunk in yet that my father is gone.

Tomorrow The New York Times will be doing a featured obituary on my dad. I'll try to link to it if I can.
* Update- they didn't make it to press in time. I think it will be in tomorrow's paper. I'll update when they let me know.

I have had several people people ask me where they can make a donation in my dad's honor.
Here are two options:
The American Cancer Society
or
The QAR project

You have no idea how much all of your kind words and support have meant to me.

*Update-Here's an article about my dad.

Posted by torrie at 10:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (55)

We are supposed to leave on August 25th for a ten day vacation at my mom's house. She lives in the Pocono mountains. It's all trees, and lakes, and farmers' markets- AKA relaxation.
I just looked on line to rent a mini van because we won't be able to fit in our car. It will be me, my husband, Willa, my mom, Dexter, two of my cats, and all of our stuff.
The CHEAPEST car rental rate I could find was more than $1,000. We can't even remotely afford that. I naively thought it would cost about half of that, which we still couldn't really afford, but I was rationalizing it because we were staying at my mom's so we aren't paying for flights or a hotel. Plus, have I mentioned how much we need a vacation?
I have no idea what we are going to do.

My dad is in constant pain now. They have been giving him percocet for the past few days and it's making him very sleepy. Now they're going to have to give him something stronger. So, I guess he'll be spending his remaining days completely out of it.

The Sarcastic Journalist sent me cupcakes and This Fish came to town and took me and Willa to our favorite cafe. Have I mentioned how awesome my friends are?

My birthday is tomorrow and I couldn't care less.

Posted by torrie at 05:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (23)

1) Thank you for all of your amazingly supportive comments and emails.

2) A few people suggested I hire some help. I would love to, but we are broke. We have about $1,000 in our savings account and that's it. We are living off of my husband measly salary. If you actually calculated how much he makes per hour, it's probably less than minimum wage. I'm trying to line up some photography jobs, but I don't really have a lot of time to devote to that.

3) Other people suggested I ask my friends for help. I don't know how this happened considering what a hippie I am, but most of my friends are lawyers, doctors, or bankers. They work a minimum of 60 hours a week, so they don't exactly have the time to babysit. And even if they did, I am HORRIBLE at asking for or accepting help. It is really hard for me to ask someone who works so much and who I hardly get to hang out with as it is to watch my kid.

4) With that said, my mother-in-law took one look at me on Saturday (I was so tired I was slurring my words) and said "That's it! I'm hiring a housekeeper for you!" She had offered to hire a housekeeper when I was pregnant and in bed for three months, but as usual, I refused because I am horrible at accepting help, gifts, or compliments. This time I am going to take her up on her offer. Living in Manhattan makes everything dusty as it is, having 4 animals makes it even worse. Then there's vacuuming, laundry, the dishes, cleaning the bathroom, etc., etc. Plus, I have to run most of the errands. You get the picture. Trying to get everything around the house done (I still haven't finished writing the thank you notes for presents we got when Willa was born), and run errands, and take care of Willa, and deal with the situation with my dad is impossible. Keeping my apartment clean is on the lower end of my list of priorities and it's become a mess. I'm looking forward to having some help.

5) Having no money at such a stressful time in my life really sucks. I'd love to be able to go out to lunch, or get a massage, or buy a magazine without feeling guilty.

6) I have 52 emails in my inbox waiting for my attention. If I haven't responded to your email I apologize.

7) I am performing (singing) at The Guthrie Center in Massachusetts this weekend with my husband and my father-in-law. Finding time to rehearse is practically impossible.

8) For those of you who don't keep track of my Twitter account, my dad was transfered to hospice Friday night. This brings with it new complications- the hospice is a 45 minute drive away (without traffic, but there always seems to be traffic), which means visiting my dad becomes an all day event. I am trying to visit him 4 days a week. I, of course, feel guilty that I can't be there every day.

9) Dexter was put on antibiotics and he's feeling much better.

10) My husband has vacation at the end of August/Beginning of September. We are supposed to go to my mom's house (in the Pocono mountains, 2 hours away) for 10 days. This might sound horribly selfish, but I'm really worried that my dad's illness will interfere with our vacation. We REALLY need this vacation. In addition to the regular 60-80 hours a week my husband works, on June 1st he became chief resident. It's quite an honor, but he has to do all of his responsibilities (schedules, meetings, etc) in his free time (and he doesn't make any extra money for it). Then of course he's helping with Willa- he spends more time with her than most dads who work less than him, and he's dealing with the situation with my dad, and he does a bunch of stuff around the house. He deserves a vacation.
When we saw my dad's doctor on August 6th he estimated that my dad had about a month to live. That coincides right with my husband's vacation. I don't want him to have to spend what little time off he has dealing with the death of my father and going to memorial services. Selfish, but true.

11) I haven't gotten my hair cut since February 22nd, and it shows.

12) Willa turns 13 weeks old today. She is a joy. She's been so cooperative with all of the trips to the hospital. She's visited the hospital almost everyday for the last 12 days and she hasn't cried once. Yesterday, she cried for a grand total of about 10 minutes the entire day, and that was only because her stomach was bothering her. Once she pooped she was happy and smiling again. She laughs and smiles all the time. She smiles at strangers. She is also trying to talk. I have no idea what she's saying, but she sure does. She's constantly babbling. She's helping me get through all of this.

Posted by torrie at 11:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

The last few days have been the toughest of my life.

After this happened things only got worse.

On Thursday night my dad fell (in my apartment) and hit his head on a glass vase. He only had a small cut over his eye, and my husband was home to help him up, but it got me thinking. What was I going to do if he fell when my husband wasn't home? What if he fell in the shower?
I was already having a rough time taking care of both my father and Willa. My father is so weak he can't even open his pill bottles. I had to do everything for him. Now I had to worry about him falling. I was a prisoner in my own home. With the exception of taking Dexter for quick walks, I wouldn't leave my father alone for fear that he would fall while I was out.

On Friday my father's doctor called to say that his scans from the previous two days showed that he had a blood clot. They told me to take him over to the hospital to have him admitted so they could give him blood thinners. I had no one to watch Willa, so my husband had to leave work. Not exactly easy when you're a doctor in the middle of a surgery. Willa wasn't allowed back in the urgent care area, so we kept taking turns watching her while the other one stayed with my father.
Now the idea of my father falling was even worse. If he fell while on blood thinners he could very likely have internal bleeding. I had a long talk with the doctor who admitted him. I told him about the whole situation and that my father was broke, and that we were broke, so we couldn't afford to hire an in home nurse. He assured me that my father would be in the hospital through the weekend. (He was supposed to see his oncologist on Monday anyway.)

I was relieved that I wouldn't have to take care of him, and that he would be safe.
Add more to the pile of guilt.

On Saturday morning we were getting ready to leave for the hospital when my father called and said they were letting him go home. We were confused. We rushed over to the hospital and found out that he was going to sign out against medical advice (AMA).
A nurse, a med student, and two doctors all explained to him that it would be best for him to stay in the hospital. While I paced the hallway crying, my husband had a long talk with him and told him how hard it was for me to take care of both him and Willa, and that I wouldn't be able to pick him up if he fell. It all went in one ear and out the other. I sat down with him and I was very honest. It was a really hard conversation because my father is a very proud man and he refuses to except his limitations.
He looked me in the eyes and said "please don't make me stay here".
What do you say to that? How do you say no to that?
So, he signed out AMA and we took him home.
About an hour after we got home I was sitting in the living room and I thought I heard a noise coming from the nursery/guest room. I picked up Willa and walked into the other room. I found my father on the floor. He had opened a drawer on the changing table and was trying to pull him self up on it. My husband had a really hard time getting him up off the floor, he hurt his back doing it. Not to mention that if I hadn't gone into the other room when I did my father probably would have pulled the changing table over onto himself. If ever there was an "I told you so" moment this was it. But, we didn't say anything. I'm sure my father was embarrassed enough already.

We survived Sunday. One friend came by and brought us breakfast and two friends (who we had canceled plans with because of my father)came by and brought us dinner.

Monday was the appointment with my father's oncologist. He told my father that there was nothing more they could do for him. He also told him that he needed 24 hour nursing care, and that I couldn't provide that for him. My father has great respect for his doctor, so he agreed that it was time for hospice. I don't think when my father flew here on Wednesday that he realized that he would never see his home or his dog again. I don't think I realized it.
I spoke privately with the doctor and I asked him how much longer my dad had. He said if he had to guess- a month. My father never asked the doctor how much longer he had, and the doctor never told him, so several times over the last couple of days my father has made reference to "the next few months" and my heart breaks a little more each time.
The doctor decided to re-admit my dad to the hospital so that they could drain some fluid. The cancer in his liver is causing fluid to build up in his abdomen and legs. The fluid in his legs is so bad that it has actually started to leak through his skin to the point where his pants are wet.

So, back to urgent care we went. When we got there we found out that the blood they had drawn at the doctor's office showed that my dad's potassium was low, which could indicate a heart problem. They had to run a bunch of tests. It was 9pm before my father was transfered to a room.

His heart seems to be fine, and as I type this they are performing the procedure on him to drain the fluid.

When we got home Monday night we discovered that Dexter has a hot spot, which has since grown to epic proportions. He is miserable.

Between taking care of Willa, my dad, and the animals I barely have time to eat and shower. The apartment is getting dirty and the bills aren't getting paid.

I really don't know how I'm getting through all this. I realized that it's amazing what you can get through if you don't have a choice. I've also been getting a lot of amazing support from my friends. Especially my internet friends.

This is all taking a huge emotional toll one me. I'm having nightmares and my anxiety has kicked into high gear. I've been having totally irrational fears. I fear that my building will catch on fire while I'm not home and the animals will be stuck inside. I fear that something like September 11th will happen when I'm not home and they will close off my neighborhood and I won't be able to get back into my building and my animals will starve to death. I worry constantly that my husband will die. I worry that when I'm walking down the street with Willa in the bassinet attachment of her stroller that someone will snatch her. I worry that Willa will catch some horrible disease because she's spending so much time in the hospital. I worry that I will be in a horrible accident that will render me unconscious and Willa won't be getting my breast milk. I worry that I will drop Willa.
The list goes on and on.

I'm struggling with so many conflicting emotions my head and my heart are swimming.

I'm trying to learn to be Ok with death because it is a part of life.

One bright spot- up until this point my dad has shown little interest in Willa. He hasn't done more than say "hi" to her. Yesterday when I was visiting him in the hospital he asked if Willa might like to lay in bed with him. So, I put her next to him in the hospital bed and she lay there and smiled and cooed at him.
It was all I could do to not fall into a heap of tears on the floor.

This whole situation has made me feel very much like a child. Like all of this is too much for me to handle. That a grown up should handle it. All these questions about medical history, and medications, and long term care. It's the kind of situation where I would normally want my parents to help. But, it's my parent who needs the help. I want my mommy. I want her to make me a cup of tea and cinnamon toast, and stroke my hair, and tell me everything's going to be all right.
But it's not going to be all right.

I want to run away.

Posted by torrie at 10:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (51)

Posted by torrie at 06:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (16)

I just picked my dad up from the airport. (He flew in to see his doctor here to see if there are any experimental trials he qualifies for. This is his last resort.)
It took me an hour and a half to get to the airport. It usually takes me 20 minutes.
The airport attendant left my father sitting on the curb, in a wheelchair, in the 90 degree heat for an hour.
Then, as if my day wasn't going bad enough, my father fell down and busted his lip open when he stepped off the curb. I couldn't get him up. There was hardly anyone around. A female cab driver tried to help me pick him up, but she couldn't get him up either. Finally, a cop car drove by and I flagged them down and they helped me get him in the car.
Then, of course, there was a ton of traffic on the way home, and all this while Willa was in the backseat.

I don't know how I'm going to get through this. I really don't.

Posted by torrie at 05:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (22)