Life, Death, and Consequences
So my parents vacation on the Adriatic every year, where they have a home.
This year my parents moved from their home here, to a smaller home here closer to me. They're both retired and decided to down-size.
Last winter, my dad slipped and hurt his knee. It took me a month to convince him to see his doctor after it didn't get better (it only got worse). He kept insisting that it was only sprained / pulled / rheumatism / etc. Finally, after numerous bullshit tests, and five months later, his doctor booked a M.R.I. for him. The results showed that he had chronically torn his ACL, was developing a cyst, and that he would require surgery.
His surgery was booked for May 27th, he was moving on May 28th, and they had booked their trip to Europe leaving on the 27th of June. My dad is 65 and I was worried about how he would handle it all.
His leg should have healed significantly in 10 days. He went to see the surgeon 3 weeks after the operation to consult with him on whether he was well enough to travel. His knee, by this time, was swollen to the size of a watermelon. His doctor advised him that this was normal and that he was cleared for an eight hour flight to Europe.
After three weeks in Europe, this Friday, my old man was hospitalized with blood clots in both legs, some of which had broken apart and spread to his lungs. My pops had almost kicked the bucket. He's stabilized now (he had made it to the hospital in the nick of time), but he' not allowed to move...he can't even get up to take a piss until the tests are done.
I want to kill everyone and everything. My dad was always the biggest, baddest, meanest, coolest mother fucker (no pun intended), that I've ever known. Now he's incapacitated on a hospital bed in Europe.
Is it normal that the only thing I can think of is finding out my father's doctor's address, hunting him down, chopping off his cock and balls, and feeding them to him until he suffocates? I hope it is because I can't get the thought out of my mind.