Holy bad day, Batman.
Somewhat unexpected, but dang if it didn't reach out, slap my ass and call me Sally.
Uh...yeah...I don't even know what that means...I am just so effing tired right now.
Let me prewarn you right now - the following post is NASTY. If you're looking for a feel-good-post-Ironman-Megan-in-serenity post, you might have to wait another 24 hours until I chill the eff out.
'Cause this bitch CRACKED today.
So if you can tolerate some tell-it-like-it-is ranting filled with crazy typos, proceed.
In summary, I am a ball of emotions right now - frustrated, angry, sad, worried, WORRIED - you name it, I am feeling it.
And I appreciate the kidney comments. I took them to heart, and surprise-visited my brother yesterday. I don't know who was more surprised through - him or me.
First off, let me explain to you that my brother is the least responsible person I know. He acts like a child, and apparently lives like one too. Upon walking up to the run-down house, I had to double take the address to make sure that it was right. I ventured up the death trap stairs, rang the doorbell, and he answered it, REEKING of cigarette smoke (of course, he told me he quit when I ripped him a new a-hole right before Arizona - guess he relapsed).
After following him up the stairs, I was STUNNED at the condition of his home. It looked like a squatters house - no shit. Garbage literally piled up, filth everywhere - he literally had to put a towel on the couch so I could sit down. The stench of dirt and smoke and...well just crap, stuck on me and even a can of Fabreeze couldn't fix (I know - I tried when I got back in my car).
Now, I know people get sick and sometimes stuff falls by the wayside, but his wife is healthy. For crying out loud, my brother has two functioning legs and arms. But the state of his home was appalling. The best I can describe it is to say that, if they had children, my child welfare office would have been called and those kids would be taken.
It was that bad.
So if that's how he treats his home, you can only imagine how he treats his body.
Yup, sitting up there on his couch, smoking, hating life, watching t.v. On a 65 degree day nonetheless. No thought to maybe taking a walk, getting some air. Naw, that might be to healthy.
And so I figured, I am going to lay it out - and I did.
I told him that I have concerns that he treats his life like shit, and that he is going to waste what I am giving him. I told him that he is the most negative person in the world, and that while being diagnosed with diabetes was a shitty hand to be dealt, he destroyed his life and blamed everyone else. I told him that his life will only get better with my kidney, but mine could get worse -that I will possibly have to give up parts of my livelihood to give him a life that he is INSISTENT on destroying.
I laid out my expectations - he goes to therapy, sees a nutritionist, stops smoking - all things I can't monitor and have to take his word for...being that his word is oh-so-trustworthy (have I mentioned that he is a pathological liar? Who used to beat the shit out of me and my siblings?)
I told him that he will never EVER have a relationship with me or his siblings if even one of these conditions if violated. If cigarettes mean losing his family, then by all means, smoke on, smoker.
I told him that I was the healthiest person I know, and that he was the most unhealthy, and that I needed him to give me a reason to do this. That I was about to be laid up in bed, letting all my muscles I worked so hard to build, just atrophy over the next several months of inactivity, and let yet another summer pass without racing or training. That I may never do another Ironman on one kidney, or hell, even die?!?!?! For what? I needed a reason from him.
I got a bunch of lip service, things like he's going to do this and that - all stuff that I know will never happen. He told me this was his second chance - I stopped him and told him he already ruined his second chance after the pancreas and that I was, in fact, his third chance.
He owned up to destroying his life, using his disease as a crutch. He started to veer down the path of blame-someone-else for a second, but then stopped.
Short story long - decision made. I don't feel there is much other choice. I know I can't control what he does with his life after this (I have no high hopes) but I also know myself, and that I wouldn't be able to manage the guilt or whatever if I didn't.
What makes me most sad is that I went into this whole thing really feeling like I was doing a good thing. I thought it was helping, I thought he wanted this, I thought he was finally manning up and taking ownership of his life. I felt like, regardless of our past and his abusive and anger and negativity, that maybe this could actually change his life.
Now I feel just angry and sad. And I hate that. I hate that I even have these feelings - that this can't just be a good thing and then let's move it on.
On on a seperate but related note - I had my final testing for the surgery today - I found out about these appointments, by the way, Friday at 430 in the afternoon. My appointment with the surgeon was for 130pm. That a-hole came into the room at 245.
TWO. FORTY. FIVE.
And yes, I was SOBBING by the time he got there - already enraged with the whole ordeal, and horribly late for work. I asked him where I needed to sign and to get me out of there. He tried to go throught he procedure again, I said I already knew, and that I had a million questions that could have been asked if my appointment started on time, but now won't be so please let me sign my consents, thank-you-not-so-much.
Cheese had the misfortune of calling at the tail-end of this crisis, as I was speeding down the freeway and trying to get to my work appointments that were in 45 minutes, but were over an hour away. I sobbed, sobbed some more, and then finally pulled it together by the time I arrived at my destination.
And finally, on a completely seperate and un-related note, I need to reiterate a past ranting: I hate liars. I hate people that get caught up in lies, and then pass over it like I didn't notice. Note to yourself - I am not an idiot. I don't have the time or emotional energy to call you out on this one, but know that I know.
Insert bad f-cuss word here.