Today I hate myself.
Over the weekend I received an email from work. There was an armed assault in a mall in Kenya, and among many others the father of one of my coworkers was killed. We were informed because the media was trying to get a angle on the story, and we were given strict directions to keep our coworker's privacy and tell everyone else to kindly fuck off.
Today I find out, through an email forwarded from my stepmother that was originally sent to my aunts (why I was not on that original list of recipients, I do not know) that my father spent this weekend after his birthday in agony. He suffered stomach pains for two days, relying on pain killers from the emergency room, rather than a drug from the cancer clinic meant to treat this particular side effect of his chemo therapy. The clinic is closed on weekends. I called and messaged him but didn't get a response until the afternoon. He sounded tired, he was still in some pain but not as bad as it had been. That was a relief.
Fuck it. This isn't helping.
- Current Location:Canada, British Columbia, Kensington-Cedar Cottage