Okay, I think it's high time for a rant. Because, well, because I can.

Put simply, this Christmas was crap compared to other years. Not because I didn't get and give awesome presents, on no. It's something totally different.

The main reason was some super depressing things happened to me early this month and it all went downhill from there. I'm feeling isolated and alone, and so here, have this rant. You guys may not really care, but it makes me feel better.

The secondary reason is my grandfather's been in and out of the hospital since early May.

He's an 83 year old man who is a paraplegic, so why do I complain, right? Eh, let me explain.

When he was 17, he was just like any other jock out there. Strong, tall and well on his way to joining college leagues. He had a promising enough football career ahead of him and practically had girls dripping around him. He had it all, at least everything in High School.

One day at practice, he was tackled in a way that he hurt his leg. His coach told him to shrug it off, and he did. It didn't hurt too badly and he figured it wasn't anything serious. He kept playing until it started bothering him. Again, his coach told him to ignore it. He told him to walk it off and just go home. So he did as he was told, and walked home. He still thought nothing of the injury as he went to bed that night. He knew he was fine. Except, as luck should have it, he wasn't. He got up the next morning only to realize that he couldn't feel anything below his ribs.

What had happened was his spine had been fractured and with the playing and walking on it, it had broken entirely. He was now fated to be in a wheelchair for life. He's been that way for 66 years.

Because of this, he tends to develop bed sores all too easily. He's had issues with them for years, but none of them got too serious. Then May 5th happened.

He was into septic shock. For those of you who don't know what it is, let me put it simply. His systems started shutting down, one by one, due to infection. He was dying, and quickly. We called 911 and he was taken away. As it turns out, he had five very serious bedsores, all infected, and some straight down to the bone. If we'd have even waited five minutes before calling, he would have died. The doctors told us that these sores had been growing for just over two years or so. He'd been lying to us for two years. My grandmother kept asking him "Are you sure you don't have any sores? Are they taken care of? Have you told Katia?" (Who was his doctor at the time) He kept saying he had none, and if he did, they were minor and he would take care of them. Two years of lies from a stubborn man.

For months, he was in and out of ER's and rehabilitation centers. Around September, he came home for a little while. Only to have to go back again. This time, it was for something totally different. I can't recall what, exactly, but it was just as serious. From then on, he'd be in Rehab for a few weeks, return home and have to go back again. Each time, it was something else, something new, that was wrong.

And then this month. He comes home on December 16th and he appears to be on the mend. His sores are almost fully healed and he seems as healthy and happy as he used to. He falls out of his chair a few times, but it never gets too bad. But then, out of nowhere, he drops into a deep fever and we have to rush him to the ER. Apparently, his Gallbladder was turning sour, and bile was pouring in, literally everywhere. They removed the Gallbladder, and he returned home again, on the 24th.

My aunt, her husband and her two little sons (both under the age of 5) are visiting for Christmas. We're having a good time, when he starts having problems breathing. Yet again, we have to take him back. Another mysterious problem, yet to be explained. And this time, it was on Christmas. On December 25th, he's accepted into the ER.

It turns out that bile was surrounding his lungs. They do surgery to correct this and they find something else that is an issue. We later discover that he was passing Gall-stones, which had been taken back into the tube where they were laying while the Gallbladder was being removed. So, they were taken out too. By now, my mum, grandmother and I are thinking, "This is ridiculous. Nothing else can go wrong at this point." Let me advise you, it's never a good idea to say that.

He's still in the Hospital now, and he gets pneumonia. Of all the things to get now, that's it. He's there as I type, in pain and my family is here at home, fearfully wondering, "Is all of this going to kill him? Are we going to lose him?"

I don't know what's going to happen, or if he's ever going to come home again. It sounds melodramatic, to say that, but I'm being honest. How much more can this 83 year old man take? I seriously doubt he can do it much more. He's strong, granted, but his body is failing him.

I apologize for this but there's really not much else I can share here.

Thank you for reading this, typing it out has helped me feel not so hopeless.

~CB