My Last Few Weeks

I entered the ER with visions of every TV Show I have seen in the last several years. I was disappointed.

There was no screaming CODE RED! I never heard the words IV or STAT. But I was quickly herded into a room where my Dad lay in a rather impressive hospital bed, with tubes and wires shooting out everywhere. My Sister stood next to the bed with a trouble look that told me she was not thinking only reacting.

Moments before, I had been briefed on the situation and knew my Dad was going to pull through, but I was worried for the nurses who had to take care of him for the duration of his stay. He had fallen, hit his head and got 12 stitches to remind him of his instability. If it was me, they would have sent me home that evening (probably after I sobered up). But when you are 87 years old, that nasty bump on the head includes a collection of medical tests to determine if you are clumsy or your body is failing you.

During these testy moments, my Dad is…. Well, Dad. This man could be holding his severed right leg and wonder what all the fuss was about. Every 2 minutes he would try and sit up and say he was fine. He would occasionally pepper that with the occasional “It’s time to go. I don’t like it here.”

My Sister was standing next to him countering every movement with a gentle comment like a skilled swordsman. But I could see the strain. Her optimistic manner was mechanical. I looked at Gary (her husband) and he was watching her like a hawk with a nervous look. I should have seen it.

With a wavy of his hand, Dad’s doctor motioned me outside the ICU room. I started to follow when I heard Gary yell my Sister’s name. I looked around and saw her lying across my Dad’s lap. Gary had a hold of her arm and shoulder.

Suddenly I became a doorway of sorts. The doctor blew past my right shoulder; several nurses blew past my left shoulder. I actually heard on the intercom “CODE BLUE”. This would have been cool other than the fact that my Sister was quickly being surrounded by hospital personal. I started to step into the room and was pushed away as another impressive stretcher with even more people shot passed me.

I just happened to look at my Dad saw something I hadn’t seen in a long time.    He was holding my Sister’s head and barking instructions at the group attending to Cheryl. He was Dad again. It didn’t matter that no one was listening to him. In his mind, he was in control. I couldn’t hear what he was saying. But every order was completed, every command was obeyed, every demand was completed. At least in his mind and that is what was essential.

In the end, my Sister ended up 2 rooms down in the same hospital. She was dehydrated after her dialysis that day and the stress of Dad’s injury pushed her to a collapse. She spent the same number of days in the hospital and she was just as stubborn as my Dad. I think Waconia was glad to see this family leave. One nurse (a cute one I might add) stated that there was a coin toss each evening to see who got that wing. She said it was uncomfortably close to Russian roulette.

Yesterday, Dad and Cheryl got to go home. As Gary and I wheeled out our recovering relatives, both of us swore to God we heard the clicking lock on the hospital doors as we exited. My Dad was telling me no one paid attention to him while my Sister proclaiming the cooking there sucked! Both Gary and I were just happy we didn’t have to visit the hospital again.
As I headed to Dad’s place that evening, my nephew called. Phil (my brother) had another stroke that evening.   (His 3 rd ) Trevor wanted me to come down there to help!!!!!!

Guess where I am headed next week? !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DAMN. Someday I am going to try and work!

 

My First.....................

Yesterday, I was introduced to black ice. I know the term but have rarely experienced it. I was on Hwy 7 headed for I-494 when suddenly the back of my truck decided it wanted to be the front.

The result was a 360 spin and two 180s in different directions.   The cars behind me were now in front, then they were behind, occasionally I caught glimpses of the now familiar cars out my passenger side window.

During those sluggish several seconds, was my life passing before my eyes?     NO!

Was I screaming like a terrified kid?     Maybe, I don’t remember.

But I do remember (Jim, you can relate) reaching for my hot cup of coffee so it wouldn’t spill!   Yes, I was reaching for coffee and still trying to steer out of the spin with my left hand. That did nothing other than to show people watching, I was attempting to do something. (and in the back of my mind, give the impression I knew what I was doing!)

I ended up in the middle of the median facing the direction I was headed. I took a quick sip of my coffee, put on a nervous grin and looked around. I had hit nothing, no car, no guard rail and no sign. NOTHING!

DAMN, I was impressed with myself. Other drivers also seemed impressed. I noticed several made special efforts to gesture that I was NUMBER 1 as they drove by.

I got out and quickly realized that I wasn’t going to just drive away. I had slid into a large snow drift. I knew from experience that if I had trouble with a parking spot, I had no chance in this situation. With a small camping shovel and a bag of Puerto Rico sand, I started the task of working my way to the highway. It was much like trying to get out of the parking spot but involved no drifting. Just spinning of tires, actually I should say tire. Only one would spin.

After about an hour of this, I had actually made some progress. I have moved about a foot closer to the road. At that rate, I knew I would be out by morning, if I didn’t run out of gas. But the falling temperature was cooling my enthusiasm. I was becoming aware of the 30 mph wind blowing more snow into my ditch and it was hard to keep up with a small shovel.

The solution appeared underneath flashing blue lights. The local policemen pulled up, turned on his lights and ask a question straight out of the law enforcement manual.

Hey, what are you doing down there?

My mind quickly came up with a large number of smart-ass responses, almost over-riding the rational judgment you need when dealing with law enforcement. I stared at him for a second or two, then pushed aside the “burying a body” response and told him I was stuck.

It was his turn to stare at me for a second or two. Those seconds allowed me to put on a silly grin and describe my handicap, I am from the South. It resulted with a perceptive smile and the offer to help me.

He walked around my truck accessing the situation and telling me how lucky I was that there was no damage. He said something on the radio, I think he called a wrecker and then asks me to try again. After a spin, he asks if he could try. I jump out; he gets behind the wheel and gets the same results. I told him to try one more time as I push and suddenly my truck is free.

He got out of my truck and offered me the drivers’ seat; I thanked him over and over again.   I could see in his eyes that he wanted to lecture me about driving in this weather, but didn’t want to interrupt the tributes. So I continued with the gratitude as I jumped into my truck, shifted into gear and slowly pulled out on the road. He stood there watching me pull away, cancelled the wrecker on the radio, shook his head and got back into his warm cruiser.

And me. Well, I was going home immediately. That is after I accomplished my original drive to Starbucks, sit next to their fireplace, watch it snow and have a cup of coffee!