This morning began way, way too early. 3:40am, to be exact. That’s when my mother-in-law called to let me know that she was in our driveway, ready to come in and watch Connor while my fabulous wife drove me to the airport. To be honest, I don’t remember much about that time period, other than a quick, dark car ride to Houston Intercontinental Airport for a 6am flight to Chicago, then another to South Bend.
We got my ticket on Priceline, and ended up flying United. Even with the $15.00 charge for my one checked suitcase, I will strive to fly United every time from now on. The plane ride was the quietest I have ever experienced…it was quieter than my car! Seating was spacious, and we were greeted with soothing music as we got on board. Wow. This beat Continental hands down!
So I had a good trip to Chicago, but I still don’t remember most of it. I got to O’Hare on time, waddled over to the gate for my connecting flight, and waited. And waited. And waited. Thought about killing myself, changed my mind, then waited some more. Apparently, there was a ‘maintenance issue’ with our intended plane, so the guys in the hangar were sending another one. Or so we thought. Finally, after over an hour of waiting, the attendant announced that they had no idea of the location of our plane, so they were going to rebook us on another flight, which was scheduled to depart at 12:08pm, a full 2 hours after the original.
I could have gotten upset, but I figured I’d be grateful that they decided to put us on a fully functional plane a bit late, rather than a punctual but “Sanford and Son” plane that might have fallen out from under us. Once on the plane, I was pleased to see that it was a decently sized and comfortable plane with cute flight attendants. Sweeeeet. I dozed immediately, and awoke when the pilot announced our imminent landing in South Bend. I made it!
My brother came and picked me up, and it was great to catch up with him during the ride to my Mom’s. Once there, I jumped into her SUV, and we were off to see my Dad.
I finally found out that he actually turns 80 in 10 days (I was never really sure before), and finally, it looks like the years have caught up with him. I turned the corner to enter his hospital room, more than a little concerned at what I might find, but I was relieved to see…my Dad. Older, more shrunken, and wearing a Darth Vader breathing mask, but aside from that extraneous stuff, he’s still every inch my Dad. He hadn’t really eaten anything yet, saying he’s still too weak, but he lifted my spirits by popping off to Mom when she took a look at his IV insertion point and forgot to replace the covers. “Marr-rry!! Cover me up, I’m freezing!” Same old Dad. I could see the years that Mom and Dad have shared in the way she alternately fussed over him and then harassed him to no end. He’d generally respond with one-word answers until he got snarky right back at her. It was good to see that he still has his spirit. The man’s not done with this world just yet. He’s still fighting. “You know, your mother and I have been married for 39 years…and she’s just as mean today as the day I married her!” That got a smile and a quick retort from Mom.
Worried about bedsores, Mom asked me to help roll Dad on his side so she could check him out (none at all, thank goodness), and then we made him as comfortable as we could by rubbing lotion on his legs and feet, and getting more warm blankets. He managed almost a half a cup of warm broth and some tea before wearing out. Hey, when you haven’t eaten for 3 days, that tiny bit of food is a big deal. We’re hoping that this, coupled with the IV therapy that starts tonight, will help him to get over the hump and get well enough to come home.
There’s more, but I’m finally going cross-eyed from the lack of sleep. I’m going to attempt a shower before bed, and then I plan to count sheep until there are none left to count.
Day 2 Thursday, October 02, 2008
After more hours of sleep in a row than I’ve had in months, we were up and out the door at about 8:20am to see Dad. When we got there, he had his breakfast on a tray in front of him, and was actually eyeing it with some intent. Mom could only stay for a few minutes until she had to leave for her antibiotic shot (pneumonia, remember?), so she put in his teeth, and left me to feed him. We chatted a bit as I gave him a few forkfuls of biscuits with gravy and helped him with the orange juice. After a bit, he paused for a moment, and then said those fateful words: “I hate to tell you this, but I have to use the bedpan.”
Oh crap.
I figured it was urgent, so I hustled to find a bedpan and get it situated. In the heat of the moment, I was a bit nervous…I didn’t want Dad to have an accident because I was too slow, so I was scrambling around in a frantic search. I found one, managed to get it under Dad’s rear, but he kept saying “Is it under? It don’t feel like it’s under.” I tried to adjust it again before the nurses came in to rescue us.
This:
is NOT a bedpan. I don’t really know what it is, but it is not, I repeat, NOT a bedpan. I think it’s something you use if you need to puke.
This, however, IS a bedpan:
And let me tell you how hard the nurses had to try to keep from laughing at me, a nearly 40 year old man who didn’t know what the hell a bedpan looks like. I didn’t blame them…I’d have laughed at me, too.
Everything was OK after that. Using the bedpan was quite enough exercise for Dad, and after the nurse came in and helped him finish up, he asked me to take out his teeth and fix him up so he could take a nap. He’s resting comfortably now, finally getting more nourishment from that extra IV line as well as the few bites and sips of food he’s had. They’re bringing a big chair in so that he can sit up in it, rather than stay in bed the whole time, and start him walking again. He’s weak as a kitten, but that’s just his body. His spirit is just fine.
Although he is improving, we are all finding ways to prepare for the inevitable. As strong as his spirit may be, his body just won’t last much longer. It could go in a day, a week, a month…we just don’t know. All we can do is love him, and each other, and see what each moment brings. I know we’ll get by.
By the way, every single nurse that has seen me since the bedpan debacle has actually chuckled and waved at me. How nice.
A quick update from later that day:
A note about the big chair I mentioned: it’s kind of an industrial grade recliner, but it doesn’t act like the ones I’m used to. We put him in it after his tests, and as we got him situated, I put a blanket over his feet, and the extra weight nearly catapulted him across the room. Fortunately, I was there to catch him, and he wasn’t hurt at all…just a bit startled.
Mom showed up again soon afterwards, and we all spent time hanging out with Dad and getting him whatever he needed. Since Dad’s pretty hard of hearing, Mom bellows at him so loudly that it’s actually funny. Likewise, Dad’s responses are still feisty enough to make us laugh. It’s the same way they’ve spoken to each other for nearly 40 years, and that’s just how they roll.
Dad had ordered a Chef Salad, but was too wrung out from tests and various bedpan escapades to eat it, but Mom did manage to get him to take some broth, pudding, and tea. We sat with him for awhile, getting him waffle boots to keep his feet from getting bedsores, turning him every so often, and making sure he was warm and comfortable as possible. Dad rests a lot…just going to the bathroom tears him up the way the half-marathon whips me, so most of the time, there’s not that much for me to do.
Sometimes, I worry that I should be doing more, like reading to him or talking to him more. I know that I won’t have much more time with him…the hours are ticking away, and I have no idea how many are left. However, he assures me that he’s happy to just know that I’m here, and he’s not up to listening to me reading western stories, or to my typically ridiculous anecdotes. I do what I can, and when I don’t know what to do (bedpan issues come to mind), I call the nurses and ask how I can help, even if it means to just stay out of their way while they do their jobs. When Dad’s gone, how much I did for him here in the hospital won’t matter to him a single bit…but it will matter to me. He’s been a great father, so I feel I should be here to do whatever I can to help him through this time.
After dinner, I gathered up some of my toys and came back to the hospital to stay the night, just in case he needs something. I’ll probably doze off at some point, but I can always crash later in the day if need be. I brought my books, some martial arts DVD’s, music, and of course, my laptop. Even though there’s no WiFi here (CAN YOU FRIGGIN’ BELIEVE THAT??!!), I can still get my thoughts down and work on other projects while I’m here.
By the way, I feel I should mention the fact that I’ve been joking with everyone as much as possible ever since I set foot on the ground here. I hope I don’t upset anyone. Some might wonder at the fact that I can joke at all, with my father in such dire shape. They might wonder if I love my Dad. ”How can he be so…so…happy?” they might ask. Well, let me clarify this for you. I’m not happy that he’s in this situation. I’m not happy that I’m probably about to lose my Dad very soon. I’m not happy that my Mom is going to have to live without him when they’ve been together for nearly 40 years. No, I don’t joke because I’m happy, people.
I make jokes because I love my father very much. He and Mom both taught me to be strong in tough situations, because screaming “Why me?” to the heavens never brings a satisfactory answer. Fathers die…all of them. That’s just a part of life, and joking is how I get through each and every day of mine. Dad taught me that a long time ago, and I don’t see a reason to toss out that lesson now. In fact, now’s probably the best time for me to use it. So laugh with me, please. Dad prefers that.
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