So at age 7 my youngest sister is diagnosed with something called Friedreich’s Ataxia. I won’t bore you with all the details, but by age 16 she’s lost the use of her legs and most of her ability to use her hands and arms. Wheelchair bound.
Meanwhile, my mom and my step-dad (sister’s father) divorce, leaving my family in poverty.
My mom dedicates the rest of her life to caring for my sister.
A year and a half ago, my sister gets raped by one of her care attendants provided by the state. City’s district attorney refuses to press charges due to lack of evidence.
My sister gets pregnant from the rape. Decides to keep the kid. So now my mom is taking care of my sister and her newborn.
A year ago the rapist and his parents (mostly the parents I assure you) decide to legally go after my sister for custody of the baby, arguing that a handicapped girl can’t care for a child.
Around that time, my mom is diagnosed with lung cancer, with no good prognosis.
At that time I, living several hours away, leave my job and my fiancee to go back to my mom’s house and care for her, and my sister, and my sister’s baby.
For the next six months my life became a constant cycle of ferrying people to doctors appointments, and lawyer appointments, and court dates, and the welfare/social services offices.
And changing shitty baby diapers.
My mom’s health declines steadily.
(An aside here. Lung cancer is a fucking horrific way to die. Horrific. Excruciating. So I really don’t care what you do, but you should probably quit smoking. And if you do get terminal lung cancer, consider suicide before it gets too bad.)
From mid November to the end of December 2012 I do not sleep for more than half an hour at a time, due to needing to keep up with mom’s Morphine injections. And her Haldol injections. And her Ativan injections.
And her enemas, because she can’t shit on her own anymore.
Meanwhile, my fiancee decides she doesn’t love me anymore, but can’t be bothered to tell me because she knows she’s going to need me to watch her dogs in a few months. Deciding not to tell me doesn’t stop her from being a total bitch for the next several months. (Don’t worry, she told me after the dog sitting was over.)
Because I think I still have a life with my fiancee, I decline my mom’s offer to leave me her house. Sell it I say, and give the money to my sister to help her out.
End of December last year my mom dies. Age 56.
My sister, distraught, starts shunning all real offers of help from the family. Refuses to move to where any relative can take better care of her and her kid. Guess she can’t give up what few friends she has, already having lost so much.
I go back to my fiancee, because I think she loves me. Even though I can’t figure out why she’s being such an ass. I do ask her. She says its just me, that she’s acting normally and that I must still be fucked up over what happened to my mom. I believe her because I want to.
About two months ago my sister finally loses custody of her kid. Kid now lives with the rapist’s parents.
Two weeks later my sister is found in her kitchen, unconscious and covered with 3rd degree burns.
Rushed to the hospital. Put on life support. Transferred to a better hospital when the first one realizes they’re out of their league.
Never regains consciousness.
About a month ago my sister is taken off of life support. And hangs on for a day.
And then she dies. Age 24.
So I’m in a mountain of debt (college loans, car payment, credit card debt from time spent caring for mom). Working an $11 an hour job I hate. Still living with my ex (and isn’t that pleasant).
Half my family dead.
So yeah, fuck MY life.