So, here I am, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the chaos that just detonated in my world like an emotional grenade. It’s one of those nights where the alphabet soup in my brain—PTSD, AuDHD, anxiety—decides to stir itself into a frenzy, simmering just enough to make me question my grip on reality. And the cherry on top? My adoptive father, who, let’s be honest, wasn’t exactly Father of the Year material in the past as seen in many other posts including the most recent, dropped the bombshell that his liver is staging a rebellion. Yes, you heard that right—his liver, the one organ no one really thinks about until it stops behaving, decided it’s had enough of his nonsense. Beginning stages, he says. Like that’s supposed to make me feel better.

Let me back up a bit because, as chaotic as this feels, my life always comes with a side of context that’s impossible to ignore. My dad and I have been through the wringer together. Growing up, he was not great, to put it mildly. There were days when “not great” felt like an understatement, and I often wondered if we were even speaking the same language when it came to parenting. But things changed in recent years—probably because I decided to ditch the “please-don’t-hurt-me” routine and started showing my fangs instead of rolling over like a submissive pup. Turns out, he respects a little rebellion. Who knew? It’s like he realized I wasn’t messing around, and somewhere along the line, he started trying harder. Not perfect, but better. Enough for me to drop some of the bitterness I’d been carrying around like a full suitcase at the wrong airport.

It has marked me in ways that are not great at all, he was racist to natives and my biological father is full native. No clue why he adopted me given this aspect but he did. He denied signs that shouldn’t have been ignored, his emotions never reached his eyes. Ever. He has treated me like hell and outright told me he doesn’t like my personality. He gaslit me, he even physically abused me. Yet he never managed to piss me off enough like my egg donor to cut him from my life. He has his good qualities and me and my grandfather recently were “overheard” talking about the native way of life of the Plains Cree. Causing him to change his tune. Never thought I would see that day especially when he would prefer I be roman catholic and I am not. Never felt right. Yet when I started to stand my ground, he backed down with a lot of things, yea he still crosses a few lines however he is trying to improve and that is what counts with me. Honest effort. You do that and I can deal with a lot of bs especially when I can recognize most of it now. Yea he still tries to manipulate me and it is rather obvious when he is getting ready to do so. Which means barely any impact besides to make me laugh at the lack of disguise to the intent.

So when things hit the roof, with his mental health that he finally admitted he needed help for. Only took four of his kids to have those letters and words attached for him to admit it isn’t just attention seeking and get help himself. He has come to me and told me things before he doesn’t share with others, I can only conclude from actions and words used that it is because I don’t push my wants and experience on him, I share my thoughts and leave it be unless he wants more. With him I took the high road and kept going and he respected it enough to back off. He also knows I can hold my own with anything life has thrown at me to this day and trust me, I have barely touched the first layer of that iceburg.

And then tonight happened. He tells me, over text as he finally figured out I am serious about having a hard time with phone calls and needing things to be ideally over text especially the heavy shit. So he tells me that his liver is failing. Failing. As in, the organ responsible for filtering out all the questionable decisions we make in life is clocking out early. Now, for most people, this would already be hard to process. But for me? Oh no, the universe had to throw in a little extra turmoil. Because not long ago, my friend Jack went through liver failure—same deal, same unfolding tragedy—and I was knee-deep in the caregiving chaos. That whole experience was a circus of medical disasters, emotional breakdowns, and moments where I seriously questioned how hospitals even function and how stupid doctors can be and I have faced a number of these god complex, happily wearing blinders type doctors. That for me to say this, well it is bad given I had to go up against more then ever before. I wasn’t exactly the family member people wanted to know was there or on the phone for rounds every time. I called them out and they don’t like it which I say to damn bad, your fucking up and I will call you out like I would any other and would want others to do with me. So now, with my dad’s news, it’s like those memories have staged a hostile takeover in my brain, demanding attention when I really, really don’t want to relive them and not with all senses involved. Delights of PTSD with a mind that goes pretty much photographic when it is medical related, good or bad.

Here’s the kicker: out of all his kids, I’m the only one who knows about this. That’s right—five kids, and he chose me to carry this delightful little piece of news. He has told his two sisters and their spouses, his parents and best friend yet none of the other kids. Why? Probably because he knows I’ll handle it. I’m the one who deep-dives into medical stuff like I’m prepping for an exam I didn’t sign up for. I research, I ask questions, I refuse to take “we’ll see” as an answer from doctors with eight letters after their names. And he knows I’ll put aside my feelings—no matter how complicated they are—and follow whatever his wishes may be. That’s just who I am, for better or worse. It is the only thing that is logical. Especially when one of my sisters is an RN, not as much experience or deep diving but still highly trained as well.

Other reasons might be because our relationship has gotten better, he wants me to deal with it and it is one of the times he is a jerk (unlikely but still possible as he does it often). He could have told me because of my ability to hold others together. Even when my world is literally falling apart. Such as with my daughter when she passed away. Once I processed I was somewhat ok and able to function if you don’t count at home that is. I was able to hold the other’s who were hit hard by the loss up even at the funeral itself. It is not because I am stronger, no it is because it is who I am. I can compartmentalize and ration shit out when needed. I also break down when alone and rarely around others, been like that most my life. Whatever his reason I feel it best to wait for him to tell me what the reason is so for now all I can do is guess, which I think is my mind trying to distract me as the news sinks in.

Oh, and here’s the cherry on this absurd sundae: he told me straight up that if he miraculously made the transplant list, he wouldn’t take it. Wouldn’t. Take. It. I mean, who drops that kind of decision in casual conversation? I am also the only one besides him and his doctor that knows this one. Since he is trusting me with his medical information I will guard it like I do any other friend, family member or stranger in my life just as I do with my patients. But I get it, in a weird way. His other medical issues mean he’d be low on the list anyway, and even if he wasn’t, he’s probably thinking about the kind of life he’d have afterward. He also knows I would have figured this out moments after he dropped the bomb shell on me with the news. He’s no stranger to hard calls, and this one seems to be his hardest one. And because I know him—and because he knows me—I think he’s banking on me to fight for him when he can’t fight for himself, but never in a way that goes against his wishes. It’s a messed-up kind of trust, but I’ll take it. I also will do exactly that if it comes down to it.

The thing with my dad is, he’s seen me in action. He’s seen me go to war with doctors over my daughter, who was so sick for so many years before she passed. He stood by me as I battled not just for her, but for the dignity she deserved in a system that often seems like it’s designed to fail you. He’s seen me refuse to back down, no matter how tired or broken I felt. And I think, in his own way, he respects that about me. He knows I’ll go toe-to-toe with anyone in a white coat if it means protecting the people I care about. That’s probably why he chose me to know about his liver, his plans, his quiet acceptance of whatever’s coming next.

So now here I am, spinning out in my own tangled web of emotions. I’m upset at the universe for handing me yet another heartbreak to manage. I’m terrified of what’s coming and convinced I’ll somehow screw it up, even though I know I won’t. I’m frustrated that my siblings are blissfully unaware of what’s happening, and I’m carrying this alone. And yet, there’s a weird kind of humor in it all—because of course it would be me. Of course, my dad would look at his options and think, “You know who can handle this? The one who’s already balancing her mental health on a tightrope while juggling flaming torches.” Thanks, Dad. Really.

But in the end, I know I’ll do what needs to be done. That’s just how life works for me. When chaos blows up in my world, I pick up the pieces, even as my hands shake and my brain screams at me to drop everything and run. I fight for the people I love, even when I don’t know how I’ll make it through. And somehow, amidst all the mess, I find a strange kind of peace in knowing that I can be that person—the one who keeps going, no matter what. So here’s to the chaos, the alphabet soup, the liver rebellion, and the absurdity of it all. It’s not perfect, but it’s mine. He also knows I can weather the storm and not shatter; I have been forged in the fire’s of hell a few times now and remained standing at the end. A bit more weathered and maybe even a bit jaded with the medical system, but I remain standing. None of my other siblings are likely to be able to do that with the news let alone with everything else.

I know I can take this, yet right now it is crashing around me and I am struggling badly with the news. I also am struggling with the knowledge that if he asks me to do what I have in the past, follow him on the medical system, watch the labs and tests to see what might be missed. I will have to say no. There is no way I can mentally handle it to the depth I would do, I barely could handle it the last time I did so. If he asks about specific things, sure, but I have to take care of me, in order to be there for him. That means making this hard choice and knowing my choice if this is a desire of his. At the end of the day he is the man who raised me, he is the man who is now trying to let go of the past crap he has pulled that I won’t go into here. He may have left some big time trauma, yet he was there with my daughter, at the time I needed someone most. Not even her father was there as much as my dad. He also seems to know what to say when I need a kick in the pants… though I only call him when I know I need that kick or a flare of furry at his bullshit to get me where I need. That might be part of that one. Yet he was still there, he is trying, he is only human. I may never trust him as I should as a daughter if I was raised without the crap, yet I know he was there. Now it is my turn. I just have to stick to my guns with my limits which is why I am saying them here. So I respect myself when faced with having to say no if it is needed when my heart doesn’t want to say no even if it needs to.

I am lost, I am confused, I am overwhelmed… you can be sure of that. Yet as the storm rages outside. thank fuck cause my country IS on fire and my province IS in a state of emergency and it helps clean the air from the smoke. I sit here, true to my spirit name of Wind Woman or Tornado Woman as I was told it when I got the name and fits better, I am taking strength from it, even if the thunder scares the hell out of me and I am hiding under the bed. I still take strength from it. I also take strength from the fact that I know I can take what is coming and I know that I will make it to the other side like I always do. Probably with a few more marks to say the least. First though to get there I need to deal with the blow back that comes with the delights of my neurodivergent chaotic mind. I have let my mind wander free on this, not to much side tracking tells me I am hyperfocused on this which isn’t always good and makes the hell worse. Yet this helps me process so I am taking you on the journey with me. Hope you bucked up for today’s ride. I am going to go and make some Bannock once the storm passes and have lots of comfort food this weekend I think. If you have suggestions, I honestly would appreciate them. I will take help no matter what form it takes because I know I need it.

Life is a storm, I will ride it. Life is messy and I will not hide that. Life is chaos and I embrace it. It will never beat me though and I will skid into whatever waits after this life wearing the marks of this one proudly. I earn every single one of them. Though right now, I really wish I could get some ink therapy. I know I have my pack though even if I don’t know who is all there when the time is right they will make themselves known.