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!