#i was writing this earlier before i had to leave for art class. ive resumed my bitching. done now

[humanmorph]

At work yesterday I watched a trailer for an upcoming horror movie (elevator game) and was pretty unimpressed with the monster design. You'd think they'd come up with something else for 'scary ghost woman' after all this time but nah it's still long black hair, long limbs (in this case fingers?) and like, contortion. also, you know, facial disfigurement! of course! it literally doesn't matter how many times disability advocates or disabled people themselves talk about how horror uses certain kinds of bodies as a template for monster designs or 'body horror'. it suuuuucks

[ca-ca-rawrrr]

Gramps

It took me two months to write this. The art of loss is a really sucky process. I thought I was going to fall asleep, but instead, here I am: 2 AM and my ramblings.

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After two years of treatment, the oncologist gave us a timeline: 2-3 months. When given the option of a potential life-prolonging treatment requiring hospitalizations, blood draws, and many risks or the comforts of hospice care, my grandpa, a military man, a former commander in the Vietnamese army, governor of a province, leader of his people, of his family, my grandpa did not hesitate for a moment to choose the path he knows: he chose to fight.

Some days were better than others. There was a constant rotation of us for clinic visits and hospitalizations to monitor his status, and besides his chaotic family with that one student nurse who was sometimes a little too nosy, he was an ideal patient. He called only when he needed, took all of his medications, ate his meals, and best of all, sat unflinchingly calm as nurse after nurse tried to get IVs started on his overused veins. Of course, behind closed curtains, my family also helped my grandpa to the bathroom the other 10 times nature would call during a shift, fluffed pillows, rearranging them and adjusting the bedframe until things were just right. He was never alone, each family member spending the night and trading off before heading to work the next morning, or in my case, walking across the street to start the quarter of my new doctorate program.

The days remain a blur, but somewhere along the way, I took and passed the NCLEX. And so, the student nurse became a nurse after all.

Sometime later, my grandpa got an infection. It quickly became sepsis. My family scared at the thought of the worst, while I watched rationally, numbly, as the team carried out the very same protocol I had presented on just one month prior, new guidelines and all. I breathed a sigh of relief when my grandpa, still slightly dazed from a nap, asked us to fluff his pillows once again. I’m telling you: he knew how to fight.

But like him, the cancerous cells his body created were strong. Too strong. I will never forget the anguish on his face as he recognized the betrayal by his own body.

It was a weird change, from the fast paced life of treatment, with almost daily appointments to those summer hospice days, where daily appointments turned into daily naps. I would spend my days off from class with my grandparents, still fluffing my grandpa’s pillows, but also cooking pancakes, and eating far more pizza, fried chicken, and McDonald’s than my body needed, which was also, coincidentally, the perfect amount for him. My family chatted and laughed, watching football games, as my grandpa resumed his role, watching, listening in. It wasn’t always easy, but there was never a shortage of family, of laughter, of bickering, or love, and my grandpa bathed in this warmth. Throughout it all, my favorite moments was when he would shave. In the hospital, I brought him his razor and from then on, those moments were mine and his alone. Every other day. He was a military man, after all.

We never spoke much. It’s not in our nature. In the end, leukemia took my grandpa, but it also created space for a deep connection to him I never knew was missing. One day, as I was leaving, he turned to me and said simply, “thank you” and I knew I wasn’t the only one who felt this way.

Earlier this year, Washington State told me I was a nurse, but it was my grandpa who helped me believe it. Today, I am a nurse because of him. Thank you for everything, 公.