Rough Day

Even if the worst happens to me, take care of your mother.
I won’t give up, if you don’t…

Friday started much like any other day. I woke up and got dressed. I did some work from home. I went and did a little shopping with my Mother in anticipation of Mother’s Day on Sunday. Then Friday afternoon as I was getting ready to settle into the soap opera that is my private life, I get a call from my Mother asking for help with Dad. She sounded more than worried, so I headed over there pretty quick to see what was going on. When I got there Dad was lying across the bed and his tongue was puffy. I got down close to him and asked him what was going on. I couldn’t really make out what he was saying, so I got closer and asked him if he was okay. I distinctly heard him say need help, so I had Mom dial 911 and then move the cars out of the way so the ambulance could get through. While she was doing that and my brother was coming from upstairs, I was alone with my Dad holding his hand and talking to him. That’s when he said the two phrases from above to me. I was trying to keep him talking and stay positive by telling him everything would be okay and the paramedics would be there soon (As Seen on TV). There were six paramedics that showed up and they had some trouble getting the gurney down the hallway to the bedroom thanks to the ninety-degree angle at the end of the hall. They requested lots of information which my Mom, brother and I all tried to contribute in turn. The paramedics decided to slide my Dad on to the gurney using the sheet he was lying on and then immediately cut his t-shirt away. My Dad was a little more coherent once he was in a sitting position, but he still did not have his usual strength. The ambulance took him to Saint Joseph’s and I followed in the Charger. I was freaking out in the car, but I did get a call out to my cousin Mike followed by one to my cousin Will. I figured Mike would get the word out to the family, especially those that were within driving distance to the hospital. I needed Will to help me get to the hospital in one piece. I was pretty jacked up when I was talking to him. He pulled me down off the ledge by talking about his own experience in the matter. We discussed what was going on with my Dad in factual versus speculation terms. By the time I got to the Harrodsburg exit off New Circle, I was okay and breathing normally. I walked with the boot on around the entire hospital to get to the ER. By the time I got to where Mom and Dad were; my ankle was killing me but I was pretty jacked up again. Dad was in sitting position and talking a little bit, but he was still weak and he was having trouble keeping his arms straight for the IV. He was thinking he was a week or so in the future and talking about events that had not happened lately, so I guess that was disorientation. The doctors and nurses were nice and all, but I felt like they weren’t giving us much information even though they did tell us they didn’t think it was a stroke. At one point, a nurse drew blood and left it sitting on the counter. Another nurse drew blood later and kind of ignored the blood that was on the counter. I believe the second nurse was a waitress in Georgetown last year. She had a very unusual name (Boiesha) and I kind of recognized her face after seeing her nametag. Strange how small a world this is. Sorry about the detour. So after asking and asking, they finally got Dad a private room in the 5A Stroke Ward of St. Joe’s (543). It was pretty late when they got him into the room to observe him overnight, but the nurses said we could stay as long as we like and that there was not really a restriction on visitors’ hours as long as we didn’t disturb the other patients. By this time Vic and Nikki had come in from Indiana with their two daughters. I had uncles and aunts and cousins from the surrounding counties stop by and my cousin Mike had come and gone a few times. There was also a slew of text messages (from the ER especially) and some phone calls (once we got out of black hole of service) from a bunch of people that wanted to check on him. My Mom and Aunt Irene stayed the night with Dad on Friday in his room. The IV fluids seemed to be helping him physically and mentally. The doctors decided to keep him off all his medications until they could see how he reacted to the current treatment and determine better what caused his problem in the first place.

Even though things have worked out so far, I think those few moments and two phrases will stick with me for the rest of my life.