Another week has passed, my son is not speaking to me and, yes, he’s still in foster care. Apparently, he’s enjoying that.
He’s been to some place called Fun Town or Fun Times, out to eat, and to another Cardinals’ game. But not to visit his home.
No visits last week, no calls from the caseworker. An email sent to her agency bounced back – that’s the second time. No point in calling her, because she hasn’t returned calls yet, or been available at all throughout this fiasco.
On Thursday, I took my husband to the emergency room; after several hours, and finally seeing a doctor, the results of his CT scan showed a tumor on his right kidney.
In the midst of all this, my son called to whine about his driving permit expiring before the trial date – rather than pay a whopping $3 to renew it, he wanted me to give permission for him to get a license. It seems the state took me seriously when I said “not in this lifetime”, or words to that effect. Or my attorney spoke with the GAL. Either one works.
I told the kid I was just a little bit busy, and that his dad was in the ER. He got the point. Sort of.
So, my husband was admitted to the hospital and stayed there until Saturday morning. I was so thrilled that all the kids called him to say “hi” or “get well soon” or “thinking of you”. Or not. They eventually, mostly, got around to doing so on Sunday afternoon and evening. At least my daughter, who was coming up to visit anyway the first part of June, offered to change her ticket and stay a few days to help out. That’s something, right?
I talked to my son Thursday night, via Facebook of course, and told him what the doctors said: dad has a tumor which has a 95% or greater chance of being malignant, and that he will have surgery to remove the kidney sometime in the next week or so.
He asked a couple questions. Only one, really, pertained to that damned driver license. I simply told him I wasn’t going to get into that, at this time. I had other things to think about. Kids, huh? Oh, and he said he didn’t “do” flowers, but he’d send over sandwiches from work.
Not surprisingly, they never showed up – he said it was “technical difficulties”, but I know he continues to tell his friends that his dad “beat me up”, so there. Whatever. I am so angry with him, he continues to lie and be a jerk overall, yet expects me drop everything and cater to his wants. Forget it, Mister – your ship is about to sail.
Tomorrow we meet with the surgeon. Hopefully all the questions will be answered and the surgery scheduled; hopefully the kids will realize the seriousness of this. Or not. But there’s always hope.