Hooked up to every machine known to man, intubated and can't talk, screws in his head, "booties" on his feet and legs to keep the blood flowing, and now his eyes are finally open. Wouldn't you be a bit pissed?!! So my mom and I are understanding my dad's angst upon waking and being made aware of his world, but I don't think either of us really knew how nasty it was about to get.
There were nights my mom and I would lay in bed, starring at the ceiling, wondering how we landed in this place. I was sleeping most nights where my dad usually slept, to help my mom feel comfort with someone by her side AND it helped me to feel close to him a bit. This might sound a bit odd, but I am journaling about my dad's last days in the hospital, so odd is where I live possibly. My dad's side of the bed had a certain familiar smell and it eased my pain a bit to remember that smell as I woke every morning. We would call the hospital every night before we went to bed (around 11:30pm) and evey morning first thing when we woke (usually 5am). Sleep was not on our side during the duration of this ordeal, and honestly for MANY months later! This particular morning, we called the Critical Care Unit and they let us know that dad was a little more energetic (code word for honery!) than other mornings. He was giving the nurses a run for their money and these nurses have seen it all. Buckle and get ready, "just love him regardless" were her words.
We had seen whispers of this last night before we left, but didn't get to stay with him through the night to really see the extent of what they were talking about. The 40 minute drive along the lonely stretch of highway 99 up to Fresno that we had done now 9 times was starting to seem like second nature. Thankfully the morning cup of joe and the shear duty of my job allowed me never to bat a tired eye on the road. This particular morning we have the excitement of something new pushing us along, knowing that when we arrived at the hospital dad would know us, SEE us and respond to us...even without words. I sure hope he will be excited to see us first and then let the beast be seen. Our routine allowed us to get to the hospital most mornings before the nurses shift change, say "Good Morning" to dad and then wait the grueling 30 minutes to go back in. The LONG walk down the gray and maroon hallway with hearts beating out of our chest to greet the one we had "lost" for 4 days was thrilling and frightening all at the same time. As the doors open, his suite is straight ahead and we can see some rustling happening in his room. Yeah, he's awake!
"Hi Dad!" my heart lept with excitement and fell with sadness as I squeezed his face next to mine, kissed his head and just wanted to climb up and lay with him. But, I step aside and watch the look on my mom's face as she embraces the one that has captured her heart for these 34 years of marriage. The adoration was palpable. Tears fell from her face as she welcomed him back, assuring him that everything was going to be okay, that she loved him and was sorry he was in this position. "I'm sorry" dad kept repeating as he made motions with his mouth for us to decifer. He can't feel responsible for this, can he?
The nurses inform us that he was not interested in all their tests through the night. "Mr. Gilbert, please squeeze my hand....now, with your left hand. Mr. Gilbert, follow the light with your eyes. We need to clean your tube now. You aren't going to like this..." We have watched them over the last several days deal with all the mucus my dad was producing in his lungs and just hoped that with time it would start to decrease. They would suction it out and pull the mucus up to clear the tracheal tube which would make him cough violently. Now, my dad had the capability of staring the nurses down with these eyes of wrath after they cleaned his trach. I can only imagine what lovely, sweet nothings he was whispering in his head. I might be grateful that we can't hear his audible voice just a tiny bit right now.
The doctors round today with a little bit more presence. I am right in the middle of it all again to make sure I hear all of what is going on. They share with me the results from the latest CT-scan. The swelling in his brain is getting much better as seen by the ICP numbers as well. We need to start working his lungs now, asking them to work a little bit harder, the ventilator needs to do less work as soon as possible so he doesn't get comfortable breathing less. So we are going to ask the respiratory therapist to start being a bit more aggressive. I now know how to encourage my dad through the day and what the doctors are expecting of him. I head back in the room after "doctor huddle" and reassure mom that things are looking good. Now, I can tell dad a little bit about what is going on. The nurses have been keeping him informed, but I would like to tell him from my perspective and with my bent of love.
We ask dad if he remembers anything about the morning of the fall and he does not. He doesn't remember calling Roxy, Jamie, nor trying to light a nail as if it's a cigarette. He doesn't remember being in pain from the fall either. He DOES remember my mom coming to the house where he fell and seeing her as the paramedics loaded him into the ambulance! That's nice right, thank you versed for that selective memory! As we sit and talk to dad the conversation being so one-sided just makes him frustrated, hear angry! So we realize that just sitting with him will be best. We can talk when he gets this tube out of his throat, hopefully soon! We can actually ASK dad what he wants to watch on TV this time though and the simplest of things become sweet joys. We see if there is any golf on, that will calm him down and settle things a bit, lets watch some golf together. As luck would have it, it's nearing the Master's Tournament so we were able to find some golf coverage that allowed a couple hours of our day to pass. This also happens to be the day we learn of actress Natasha Richardson's death. She dies of a subdural hematoma that resulted after a fall in a skiing lesson. She first resisted care from the paramedics and signed a waiver saying that she was fine. Wow, this too could've been our story if the man my dad was doing the job for had just let my dad drive home. He would have gone to an empty house and most likely would have gone straight to bed. I can only assume my mom would have found him dead when she arrived back at the house. We are thankful beyond measure to this man for not letting my dad leave, but trusting his instincts. Let's have a different ending to this story please! How frightening to hear of the parallels in these stories and tempting to keep my mind in check about what is going to happen to my dad.
Let me now introduce you to the most amazing Respiratory Therapist ever. Her name escapes me right now, which I didn't think would ever happen. We start to build a connection with her that is unmistakeable. She tells us her story of her father being in the hospital with similar circumstance and even having been a smoker. She watched his struggle to be extubated and fought hard to make sure the therapists were doing everything they could to get him off the ventilator. She assures us that she feels the fight in my dad's spirit, she likes his dagger stares he gives her as she "works him out". I try to convince her that my dad is the sweetest man you will ever meet. He may not be giving off that vibe right now, but just trust me. He was an athlete in his younger days so make him work. He was still laying carpet at 68, you can almost consider that some form of athletics when you are hauling a 1 ton roll of carpet on your back. She lets us know that it will happen for him, just give him time and be on his side. He is going to have to fight for her though and show the doctors "what's up!" She also tells my dad that she doesn't believe the crap he is trying to give her....she can see right through him to his tender center. I like her!!
This day was spent doing much of the same, sitting with my dad, watching his numbers, watching TV, reading scripture to him as he starts to get sleepy, talking on the phone trying to send updates and continually speaking truth to my heart and my mom. We only know what is in front of us, let's don't go any further than that. As the sun sets, my heart gets anxious about leaving. I HATE leaving every night. I didn't ever leave my mom when she was in the hospital, why do I have to leave now. They will let one of us stay the night, but my mom doesn't really want to because she needs to go home and check on Roxy (the dog). Plus, being there all day was emotionally exhausting enough, getting some sleep in a bed is necessary. He is in good hands right? But, it doesn't change the fact that I have to now look at his eyes and tell him "Bye, we will see you in the morning." He doesn't want to be there, and he doesn't want us to leave!...not without him at least. Please take me with you is what his eys communicate to me. So, we try to wait until he is asleep before we depart or it is just too heart-wrenching. Please talk care of him in the night and do more than just keep him alive! There is work to be done!
No comments:
Post a Comment