Last month
was heinous at best…ants, hearts, and terrible memories…ending in open heart
surgery and oxygen. At the beginning of
last month my dad had a “cardiac incident”, meaning that he had chest pain and
pain running down his arm. His doctor
did an EKG and noticed an abnormality and his heart rate was WAY too high…off
to a Cardiologist for him and nitro to go in his pocket. When on the stress test for the Cardiologist
some weird things started happening and off he came after only 2 minutes, and
in came the doctor to tell him that they needed to do an Angiogram and most
likely a stent. In one week he was to
admit himself into St Bernadine’s Hospital in San Bernardino. Needless to say, the stress increased
exponentially in our lives…but we had no idea then what was coming…oh, if we
had only known then.
Meanwhile I
had a crown prep done on one of my teeth that had needed it for a while and I
had started grinding my teeth…oh the pain!
I was fitted for a mouth piece to prevent the grinding and force my jaw
muscles to relax, which came in the day before dad had to be at the
hospital. After much debate, it was
decided that I was to drive him up to the hospital at 4:30 in the morning.
As I was
driving them up that morning in the dark, I was reminded of a time in my life
when my father would pick me up out of bed at some God-forsaken hour of the
morning and load me in the car and drive somewhere. When my father was a High Councilor in the
north woods I was only about 11 years old, when he was sent to speak my mother
(who was the Stake Primary President) and I would accompany him. Of course we were both enlisted to speak too,
but because our stake was spread over such a great distance we left very early
on those Sunday mornings. I remember
waking up in the car and Mom would give me my clothes, and I would dress in the
car on the way to wherever we were going.
All these memories came flooding back to me that Tuesday morning while I
was driving my father somewhere in the dark…I thought about how at some point
we do for our parents what they spent 20 years doing for us.
After about
an hour and half we heard that dad was to be admitted to the hospital and would
be having surgery the next morning. The
doctor explained that one vein in his heart was completely blocked and 3 others
were 90% or more blocked…this would be a quadruple bypass. When we got to his room, the surgeon told us
that he had a heart attack at some point, but that his chances were above 95%. My father is 74 years old, this is not
generally something they do on a man his age.
My mother and I brought the images home and Matt came and told us what
they would do…It was bad, really bad. We
cried and prayed, as our faith was tested once again.
As the
surgery was being performed I was at home with my son after having that stupid
crown glued in place. I wandered around
the house cleaning everything I could find…until I had nothing left to clean
and all I was left to do was to sit and wait as my father’s body was being
violated by a power tool. I was crying
while sitting next to my son on the futon and the next thing I knew my son was
putting a pacifier in my mouth…I guess he thought that I needed the comfort
that only a paci can bring. He sat with
me while he watched his show until I got word that the surgery was over and
that the surgeon was pleased with the way it went.
During the
time he was in the hospital I had a lot to deal with in my mind; this was the 3rd
time I have had to see my father in a hospital bed in bad shape. I was 9 years old when he had a bleeding
ulcer and had to have a transfusion to save his life. 2 weeks before my wedding he had a stroke and
I had to drive him to the hospital. Now
this, a quadruple bypass…I was not sleeping or eating, and I had a fear in me
that I couldn’t shake. I am the youngest
of my parents’ children, and I will be caring for them for the rest of their
lives…but for the first time the realization hit me that someday they will
leave this earth. I have hope that
before this happens I will be able to make peace with the concept that I have
to give them up.
By Labor Day
we got to bring him home with his traveling oxygen tank…then a generator was
delivered to the house with a really long tube.
So now we have a very alive and grateful Grandpa wandering around the
house trailing his tube behind him. He
has a really big scar and a heart pillow that he is fondly attached to, but his
color is coming back and we are glad to have him home! I made him a new fuzzy pillow so that his
other can be washed, I check on them several times a day, and once again I am
the last person in this house to go to bed.
It’s not the big things that throw us over the
edge, it is the little things. The
straws that break the camel’s back aren’t bypass surgeries or strokes, it’s the
crowns and ants that hit us at the same time.
It is the silly work schedules and not seeing each other that lead to
losing your mind because of stress. So
here’s to memories and straws, may they not be so heavy that we collapse under
the weight. And may we learn early how
to cope with life’s lemons that are thrown at our heads when we least expect
it.
No comments:
Post a Comment