The Saga of Steve continues!
Two days ago, his 88 year old Mom (Loli) stood up in the hospital cafeteria, turned the wrong way, fell, and BROKE HER LEG! Go ahead, take a moment to digest the news. I know I had to.
So, the rehab center gets Loli into a wheelchair, and she rolls on down to Steve's room to tell him the news--she insisted--then she was ambulanced across the street to the hospital, where she was admitted with a hairline fracture in her right femur, just below where she broke it once before...have I mentioned she's had both hips and knees replaced? (Insert expletives here; I did!) She's a real spitfire, the minute we arrived to see her this morning she was tossing off the sheets and pulling up her gown to show me her leg! It looked good, too, no terrible bruising and only a little swollen, much better than I expected. She's refused pain meds except at night to sleep, she says she needs to feel it so she doesn't OVERDO it. My God. What a woman.
So, Scott and I spent today conveying stuff to both invalids, and driving Loli's car back to Steve's condo. Loli is already up, shuffling around with a walker, determined to get back on her feet as soon as possible. Her primary care physician, by some happy twist of fate is also Steve's--and he moved heaven and earth to get her moved over to the rehab facility where Steve is--tomorrow! So they can keep each other company and recover together.
Steve can talk now, and today I asked him why he waited so long to go to the doctor. Long story short, he's been severely and profoundly depressed for some time, and it was only survival instinct that finally drove him out of the house to the hospital. I haven't discussed this in the Kat's blog but he and I had a falling out some time back over his refusal to recognize that he needed help after a similar hospital episode (not as severe, obviously) a few years back. I had to set a limit on our friendship because it gave me so much pain and anxiety over his apathy. So we've been work friends only for some time, and of course that's one place where he was fairly "together" so I never saw how badly he had deteriorated mentally. I mean, he hasn't had heat or air conditioning at his condo for THREE years. Because he didn't deserve any comfort.
Even though I told him at the time upfront, honestly, in no uncertain terms why I was pulling back, I am wracked with guilt that I had some part in his spiral down into the abyss. Because I've been there myself I'm exquisitely in tune with the agony that exists in the pit; and I'm having a hard time coming to grips with the situation.
But I must, and I will. We cried together a little bit today and resolved that the past is done. Steve's decided he's not quite ready to die yet, and is determined to try for whatever happiness he can get out of the rest of his life; to quit chasing pipe dreams and could-have-beens. He says he's ready for therapy to rid himself of his demons, or at least learn to live with them peacefully. I told him he'd better not be lying to me again, or else. Translation: I'd kick his ass.
I am wrung out, let me tell you.
Off to bed.