Apologies for not launching straight into card two of the Tarot WoW journey, the High Priestess. I just can’t face writing it at the moment. I’m struggling writing this. But I know writing is like muscle. Use or lose it soldier. And since I’m currently not using any of my other muscles (apart from the coffee drinking one) I thought I’d better give it a go.
Two weeks ago my father-in-law was rushed into hospital with double pneumonia. His lungs had filled up with fluid. His heart stopped for 15 minutes but they brought him back with high tech wizardry and paddles. Since then he’s been in intensive care, breathing through a tube, on dialysis (his kidneys decided to join the major organ rebellion). His heart- never on top of its game (triple by-pass 20 odd years ago, ongoing angina) is still in shock from its 15 minute hiatus and is responding by hysterically dancing across the charts, unable to find it’s rhythm (oddly enough a bit like my father-in-law clapping along to music – always several beats behind but enjoying himself nonetheless).
This week they brought him out of sedation & he’s gradually becoming more alert. He looks very thin, sunken, drawn. He sometimes looks scared. He often looks angry – very angry. When you see that look you’re thankful for the tubes tying him to the bed so he can’t lunge at you with a knife. They call it intensive care psychosis. Apparently the lights & white walls & background noise do something weird to your mind. It’s not nice. In real life he’s very mild. The most aggressive thing he’s ever done is confront two individuals in a bar who were making fun of him in Welsh. They didn’t realise he could speak Welsh. He told them straight. Pow. Zap. Wallop. They left shamefaced but unbloodied. He is that kind of man.
We don’t know what the future holds. He wasn’t a well man to begin with. It’s hard to look at his Facebook page – in his About section he talks about his love of music (never have I seen such joy as his discovery of Spotify) & says that “despite poor health” he enjoys life. Interestingly he also selected Karachi as his place of birth … he was born in Wales & has never travelled further than Spain. This was therefore either a clever attempt to foil internet fraudsters or defeat at the hands of a drop down menu.
I don’t know what’s going to happen. Looking at him I can’t see how he can pull through this and have a good quality of life. Over the past 2 weeks there has been no real improvements - the machinery still continues to whirr away giving him life, the only difference now is his eyes are open to take it all in.
So we wait. And visit. And when we’re not visiting I jump onto WoW to escape. I find I’m happiest mindlessly running through low level dungeons as dps or out in the field levelling alts. I can’t seem to face anything involving Seashell – my level 90 – not even farming or making my celestial cloth. I tried doing some healing on my Druid but realised that too was a bit more stress than I can currently take when husband & I had a major blow out after he made the mistake of asking me if I wanted a coffee at the precise moment the tank pulled the biggest group of mobs you can find in Razorfen Downs & then disappeared out of my line of sight to go pull some more. We’re speaking again now (me & husband I mean … the tank is dead to me – as he was shortly after that pull).
So low level alts & easy dungeons. The WoW recipe for dealing with a family crisis. It works. Or at least it helps. For awhile. But then we switch WoW off & have yet another conversation about what it all means & what will happen. We jump every time the phone rings, wondering if it’s the hospital and, if it is, not sure what we want them to say.
Ok – I wrote something. Blog no longer feels neglected. Writing muscle worked out. Now back to hospitals, phone calls, texts, work and WoW. It’s life Jim, but not as we want it.