Published August 24th 2012
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My road trip was cut short when I received the call that my father
had just coded in the ICU and was put on life support. Several of his organs
had stopped working and the rest were on their way to shutting down. I
was told his brain damage was so severe he would never live a quality
life even if his organs were functioning. More than one doctor told my
family that my father was dying. We made the hard to decision to put him
in hospice and "do not resuscitate".
I had made it to Columbia,
MO when all of this happened. I made the decision to stay in a hotel for
the night before driving over 20 hours back to Massachusetts. The night
I stayed in MO was the night everyone, doctors included, thought would
be the night my dad passed. The family crowded around his bed and
mourned the loss of my father. I balled my eyes out in my hotel room
also mourning the soon to be loss of my father. "It's real this time" I
kept saying to myself and Ryan.
I thought of all the things my
dad would never get to see... my graduation, going to Emerson,
graduating from Emerson, making a name for myself, buying a house,
getting married (maybe... still don't know how I feel about marriage.
lol). All these things my dad practically lived for.
During my
long drive home I had plenty of time to think about the situation and
accept the reality of my fathers condition. I did a lot of crying and a
lot of soul searching. I would go through bouts of tears, confusion, and
wonder why I was meant to have no parents at such a young age. I know
there are people who definitely have it worse than me and I
am
thankful for the life I live regardless of what I had to endure as a
child and young adult. "But why was I chosen to have no parents and a
broken family?" My independence comes from being on my own for so long. I
have never known what it was like to have a real family. And now my
father, the only parent I have left, is about to be taken from me.
A
part of me also knew he did this to himself. My father who has suffered
from alcoholism for many years has been in and out of the hospital many
times. Each of those times the doctors kept warning him that if he
continued to drink he WILL die. That day had finally come.
When I
finally got to the hospital my aunt warned me of what I was about to
witness... I walked in and saw my dad having compulsions in his bed. His
eyes were glazed over and bulging from his head. His body would go
through these phases of just laying there to sudden movement of trying
to get up. He would make these terrible faces as though he was suffering
in pain. I would grab his hand and ask him to squeeze it if he could
hear me... nothing. We would waive our hands in front of his eyes and
ask if he can see us... nothing. His pupils stayed one size and his eyes
just looked straight out. He didn't know we were there. I kept asking
the nurse if this was normal because it didn't feel right. The nurse
that night was a real bitch. She showed no compassion and gave us
attitude. I left the hospital that night replaying what I just saw in my
head.
We left the hospital after 3 hours, which was all I could
take of seeing my poor father in that condition. I got so angry at
myself for that. When I was hospitalized my father spent the night each
night until I could go home... and here he is dying and all I could
handle were three fucking hours?!
I spent most of the next day in
bed. I couldn't get out of my head. I finally made my way to the
hospital around late afternoon. I walked into my father's room and saw
him sitting in a chair next to his girlfriend. His eyes moved to where I
entered and I heard him muster up the words "my baby girl". My stomach
dropped. How is he suddenly able to follow our movement let alone
recognize who I am and speak? At this moment I knew I wasn't getting
straight answers from the doctors and nurses. I had been told different
stories from each of them... none of them making complete sense. It
didn't feel right having my father in hospice if he was suddenly showing
improvement and mental awareness. That was when I called my friend
Chris who is a doctor.
Chris helped me ask the right questions
and decipher the answers I was given. Chris told me based off the test
results I read to him that my father's results were normal or showed
improvement. This didn't sit right with me. I demanded to speak to a
different doctor than the one I had previously spoken with. A different doctor
came to speak with me and also evaluate my dad. He told me that what he
just saw and the stories he had been told by the nurses did not match
the story he was told by the other doctor. He gave me new options to
choose from.
The next day my father did even better. His voice
was coming back more and he was gaining more physical strength. He was
still a bit delusional, mostly from the meds but also partially because
of the damage caused by his possible stroke and alcoholism. He would
come in and out of reality. He knew who I was for a short amount a
time... then he went back to thinking it was 1963 and that he was in the
house his uncle built. It was actually a riot watching my dad laugh at
nothing, recite long quotes from movies, talk to no one, and confuse
Ryan for Richard... whoever that is. I sat and watched TV with him and
would use a sponge stick to help keep his mouth moist and to give him a
little drink when needed. I made sure his lips stayed moist with
chapstick and I would help him roll or adjust himself. I even helped the
nurse change him.
At that point my father had failed his first
swallow test. And if he wasn't able to nourish himself he could't live
off of TVN's (the IV's that give you electrolytes and such). Which meant
if he can't eat we would have one of two options... have a feeding tube
be surgically inserted which no doctor would suggest doing specially
with the condition of his organs because it would only cause more
problems.. or medicate him while nature runs its course. There was one
other option, however, we could keep him connected to fluids for the
night and give his throat more time to heal. After all, he did have a
tube shoved down it for several weeks.
The next afternoon he did a
bit better on his swallow test. He did so well that they actually put
him on a puree diet! I called his hospital room that night to let his
girlfriend know I was on my way over when to my surprise my father
answered.
"Dad?"
"Hey! I can't wait to see you guys."
We continued with a normal conversation. We spoke as if I had just called him up at his apartment.
When
I got to the hospital he was my dad again. I guess he had even walked
to the bathroom with the assistance of a nurse. Keep in mind he was bed
ridden this whole time and couldn't even sit up or roll over on his own.
We hung out for a few hours until he got tired. He even shared his near
death experience with us. I was in shock from the improvement made in
the last few days.
I was awoken this morning by a call from
"978"... I know this is the area code for my family and the hospital. My
heart raced when I saw the number. I didn't want to answer to bad news.
I answered the phone as quickly as I could... it was my dad. He was
telling me how he is being moved to a rehab facility today. He was
excited and told me how he is going to take it one day at a time. I told
him to let me know when he made it there safely.
I don't even
know how any of this is possible. Even one of the doctors who worked on
my dad went home to his wife and told her he witnessed a miracle. I am
still taking everything day to day. I have hope but I am not allowing
myself to be unrealistic.
I will cherish whatever time I have left with him. So far he seems like a changed man. I hope he stays that way.
