Life
It's so precious.
I learned a few things this Thanksgiving day. My daddy, who couldn't breath very well went into the hospital emergency room on the 21st of November. He has congestive heart failure and COPD. He has had a 6 vessel bypass and a stint. He is the strongest and robust most man I have ever known. Ever. Period.
On the 24th of November at 10:32 am, my mother called me at work. "They are going to intubate him, get up to the hospital!" I was stunned. He was doing better, he was on the rebound, we were looking forward to having him home on Thanksgiving. It was not to be. My daddy stopped breathing. There was a Respiratory Therapist in the room considering he was in the middle of a breathing treatment. He couldn’t get any air to move into his lungs. Try as he might, it wouldn’t go in. His doctor was on the way. At 10:35 a.m. I went to his side and told him I love him. He squeezed my hand. I told him that they were going to put him on a ventilator. He said to me, "Tell....them........to...................hur.....ry."
I did. I cried. I prayed.
My father has a ‘Do Not Resuscitate’ order at the hospital. I know my daddy is tired, he is plumb wore out. He hasn’t been able to breath well for three years, and it have been getting progressively worse. I know about the DNR and was thrilled to hear that it was my daddy who told the nurses that he wanted the ventilator. It is an instinctual reaction to want to breath ...
The tube went in and by 10:45 my daddy was moving into the ICU and being hooked to monitors and machines. Fluids of assorted colors and thicknesses were being pumped into him. Air was being pushed into his lungs by a machine that makes the most horrible rhythmic noises. My poor sweet, stubborn daddy was agitated beyond anything I had seen thus far in his heart wrenching ICU jaunts. This being the third time on a ventilator, I thought I had seen it all, but I hadn’t. He pulled at his IV’s, at his catheter, at his gown, at the sheets. The doctor decided it was best to put daddy in a coma. They used a paralytic and an amnesiac ‘mind fogger’ at the same time so he could let his body rest and allow his lungs to pass oxygen throughout his organs.
On the 25th of November the doctor came into the room. He sat in a chair next to daddy. Mom was sitting on the other side, looking over my daddy’s bed facing the doctor, I was standing behind my mom when the doctor made my knees buckle and my breath whoosh out of my lungs. "We need to be serious here ladies, if this doesn’t work, I’m hopeful, but not optimistic this time. If it doesn’t, then we are going to need to have a long, hard talk. This isn’t looking good."
I spent a lot of my time with tears either threatening or streaming down my face.
Daddy lay in a coma on the 24th, 25th, and part way through the 26th of November. They let the medicines that made him comatose wear off. He awoke agitated and restless. They tied him down in the bed. They tried to wean him from the respirator, but to no avail. He wasn’t strong enough to make the move that Wednesday. They would try again in the morning. Morning came and left, as did the afternoon. By early evening on Thursday November 27th - Thanksgiving Day - the medical staff was ready to try to get the tube from daddy’s lungs and allow his lungs to breath on their own. This time all the right numbers were on the machines face. The Respiratory Therapist had my daddy do a couple of exercises. His NIF was -20. She said that was good enough, barely, but good enough. The tube came out and for the first time in four days my daddy was truly breathing on his own.
Tears of joy were streaming down my face. God had answered the prayers being said round the world for my daddy. His Vital signs were jumpy though and he was still loopy from the medication. He told me his name was John Strickland, he told me he wasn’t sure who I was. Nope, he didn’t know momma either. We were certain that the amnesia would fade. The medications he was on are incredibly strong, the effects of them were still lingering, and the doctor assured us that it is temporary.
I hope so.
As I sat down to peanut butter on bread on Thanksgiving evening, I was awed at the remarkable sights I had seen through the past few days. My daddy who by every right should have been dead, wasn’t. Not only was he not dead, he lay in the hospital breathing on his own. My prayers were answered, I just wasn’t ready to let go of him. Not yet. Not this day.
He continued his confusion but his vital signs began getting stronger and holding firm. His blood pressure and heart rate no longer jumped around, but he is weak. He can’t stand up alone. He can’t walk or dress himself. He can barely feed himself. The doctor thought a rehabilitation center would do the trick for him.
So that’s how I found myself doing what I never in my life wanted to do. I went with my mother and admitted my daddy into a nursing home.
He’s been there since Friday December 5th. He’s disoriented, he’s confused, he sometimes isn’t sure where he is or why he’s there. The nurses put an alarm on his shirt that is attached to the bed, if he tries getting up the alarm separates from the bed and signals that he’s up. He’s tried getting up numerous times. Once, he took his shirt off and got up. Knowing he wouldn’t sound the alarm he decided to use the bathroom. He fell to the floor. He thought he could walk. He’s cranky and tired. He told my mother that his therapy started when he ate soup at lunch. It’s a good start daddy, but it’s gotta get better than that. The doctors have shared with us on Saturday that the immensely huge doses of Prednisone that was helping my daddy to breath also scrambles the brain up. He too promised it to be temporary.
I hope so.
He told me the other day that he feels cheated. He feels as if he should have died. He feels he was cheated out of the opportunity to pass on.
Call me greedy, but I’m thankful he didn’t.
I am thankful that I get him one more day ...
