Time for Venting

What a day!

What a day this has begun and will be when it concludes.

Mercury readings across the Cornfield will rise to 61 today with rainy conditions, fog and a general dreariness. Then tonight comes along.

As the night shadows fall and the moon races across the sky, the winds will pick up and turn from warmth to polar cold. Snow will begin to fall coating the land with up to an inch of white. Turning colder, a shift will occur back to ice and freezing rain.

What a day!

This day so mirrors my own situation in Mark’s Den as depression grows, not just from SADs, but incited by my current terminal run down the highway of life.

Does anyone really care or are they all thinking, “Why doesn’t he stop fighting and go home“?

When I call hospice or one of the caregivers have to stop by my place, are they thinking, “Oh, no! Not him again!”

I had thought my pre-memorial memorial would be such a comfort for my sons, granddaughters and other family members once I have gone home. Apparently not, since the response has been minimal at best.

In their 80s and their other halves in their 70s, I understand what a trial it is for my parents to come see me, care for me.

But if not them, who?

I have no one.

After losing 25 years that can never be brought back, though oldest son David loves me, that gap cannot close. With youngest son Kevin, who loves me I know, in Texas, his help is unavailable cut off by a 1,000-mile gap.

Such is life.

Now Phil and Brenda did come make coffee the other night after Mom asked.

Leticia came for a visit the other day. She is now helping find someone to sit with me when I need someone. She also came by yesterday and set me up with ice water. 

My only real friends are those online, which 98% have never met me face-to-face. Yet, those are the ones that check in with me. Send me cards or art work or help provide in my times of need.

Never have I felt so useless, so much a failure, so worthless as I am today. I always had such high hopes of impacting the world for the better. Now as I near the end I must say as Solomon said, “All is vanity.”

From December, 2012:

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I am Mark Ivy, a born and bred Hoosier. I am father to two wonderful sons, Dave and Kev, of whom I am very proud; two terrific daughters-in-law, Anna and Hailey; three beautiful granddaughters, Dylan, Alaina and Amelia. On May 9, 2017, my lung specialist hit me with the news I had maybe six months to live if the chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), the damage caused by the histoplasmosis described below, ran its normal course. I am now on hospice at home. Content and ready to cross over the river to the other side. On September 2, 2014, I was diagnosed with disseminated histoplasmosis, a fungal infection, discovered by a biopsy of my larynx. The infection is fatal if left untreated. For 2 1/2 years I lived under a death sentence being misdiagnosed with a non-specific bacterial infection which left my right lung a "dried up sponge" and non-functioning. I was aggressively treated for the infection with antifungals. The treatment ended October of 2015 and fortunately did not take two years. I suffer from chronic Horton's Syndrome. The effects vary widely causing various problems. Statistically, Horton's affects only 0.1% of the population. Major depression also attacks me regularly.