Saturday night, with Dad in the surgery recovery area, my brothers and I decided that Mom needed a bath and I was the one to do it. Oh, holy crap. My neuroses kicked into high gear. They were right, but I'm still SUCH a huge baby. I didn't want to do this thing. I don't want to step up to this plate and do the responsible thing. Damnit! This grownup shit is completely overrated.
So after a wakeful night, I hatched the plan. I would have my brothers within earshot in case Mom fell or resisted or something. I would wear my sleeping shorts and t-shirt. I took my body puff and body wash and some tearless shampoo, and I was off to do this thing. It was just not that bad. Mom was very cooperative, and she seemed to feel SO much better when it was done.
I picked out a pretty outfit for her BIG day, and brushed her hair just so. Rick, my brother, gathered the piles of dirty clothes, towels, and other things and put them to wash while I worked with Mom. It took one hour from start to finish. Just not that bad. I survived. I'm such a freakin' wimp.
I have to do it again tomorrow, too. I'm scared again, but I know it will work out fine.
Monday, May 15, 2006
Dad had congestive heart failure . . .
on Friday. The second I got the word, my dominoes began cascading down very quickly. I had to get to Mom and Dad at the hospital. I had to get someone to pick up Mom and take her to the apartment and sit with her until one of my brothers arrived to take over. I had to call my three brothers and get them to GET HERE asap after work. I had to be with my Dad while he panicked from not getting enough air as the medicines began to take fluid off his lungs and ease his breathing.
I knew all this the second I received the phone call right after 3rd period had begun and the kids were starting the last two chapters in reading Watsons Go To Birmingham. I had about a 5-minute come-apart session, complete with tears, shaky voice, and tremors in my whole body. I told people the minimum of details to get myself out of the school and into the car. Once there, I let a couple of sobs rip out, but then had to quickly get on the phone.
After Mom's arrangements were set, I was calm. Dad's breathing eased up significantly, but the doctors and nurses were very concerned with something they were seeing in his blood work. Chemistry was showing that he had suffered heart failure and possibly a heart attack. This went on all day Friday, and Saturday morning they ordered an arteriogram (sp?) which showed that he had a 95% blockage of one of the main arteries leading into the heart. It was bad. Very bad. Open heart surgery would be required - a bypass; possibly one, two, three, or four branches needed repair. The surgeon wouldn't know until he was in there working.
A chin quiver or two, but no tears. Still hangin' tough. They wheeled Daddy down to surgery and cracked open his 80-year-old rib cage to repair his damaged arteries. Four hours later, he emerged from surgery having done well (whatever that means). He had more tubes coming out of him than "The Borg" on Star Trek TNG. One was breathing for him, 4 were draining fluids from his heart and lungs, one was keeping his stomach contents emptied, the catheter was draining urine. The oxygen mask and electodes for heart monitoring completed the set. A TV showed 6 or 7 sets of information coming from Dad's unconcious body.
He looked very small. Although Dad is only 5'6" tall, he is always such a big man in my eyes. This sight was quite confusing for my psyche.
Still no tears. Hangin' tough.
I knew all this the second I received the phone call right after 3rd period had begun and the kids were starting the last two chapters in reading Watsons Go To Birmingham. I had about a 5-minute come-apart session, complete with tears, shaky voice, and tremors in my whole body. I told people the minimum of details to get myself out of the school and into the car. Once there, I let a couple of sobs rip out, but then had to quickly get on the phone.
After Mom's arrangements were set, I was calm. Dad's breathing eased up significantly, but the doctors and nurses were very concerned with something they were seeing in his blood work. Chemistry was showing that he had suffered heart failure and possibly a heart attack. This went on all day Friday, and Saturday morning they ordered an arteriogram (sp?) which showed that he had a 95% blockage of one of the main arteries leading into the heart. It was bad. Very bad. Open heart surgery would be required - a bypass; possibly one, two, three, or four branches needed repair. The surgeon wouldn't know until he was in there working.
A chin quiver or two, but no tears. Still hangin' tough. They wheeled Daddy down to surgery and cracked open his 80-year-old rib cage to repair his damaged arteries. Four hours later, he emerged from surgery having done well (whatever that means). He had more tubes coming out of him than "The Borg" on Star Trek TNG. One was breathing for him, 4 were draining fluids from his heart and lungs, one was keeping his stomach contents emptied, the catheter was draining urine. The oxygen mask and electodes for heart monitoring completed the set. A TV showed 6 or 7 sets of information coming from Dad's unconcious body.
He looked very small. Although Dad is only 5'6" tall, he is always such a big man in my eyes. This sight was quite confusing for my psyche.
Still no tears. Hangin' tough.
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