♥ ♥ ♥ Sometimes I wonder if you think about me as much as I think about you -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- my daddy Something happened in early December. Whether I haven't written about it because of what I feel is a lack of time or whether I simply do not want to recount it, i don't know. But I feel like I'm so close to the brink of breaking so often these days that I need to write about it. It isn't earth shattering, it isn't globally ground shaking, but it has impacted me more than I ever thought an event could. In early December I almost lost my dad. The man who has many nicknames from me alone. Dad, daddy, father, old man, old guy, poppy. On December 2, my dad had a massive heart attack that stopped his heart. He may have woken up to get out of bed, maybe he was in pain, we'll never know. He fell and hit his head on the side of the bed, it woke up my step mom. She came around to his side of the bed to find him lifeless on the ground. She valiantly gave him CPR until the paramedics and firefighters could arrive. They got his heart started again but lost him shortly after. They started it again and took him to the hospital where they put in two stents to keep his arteries open. I arrived at the hospital shortly after they did. I still wasn't sure what had happened exactly. I had to wait in the hallway. they wouldn't let me see him. My dad. We found out that he was holding. He was in the ICU. They were placing him on ice mats to cool him down so his heart wouldn't have to work as hard and there were studies showing that cooling down the body helped the brain heal. This may help with the 20 minutes of oxygen loss he suffered to his brain. My family came, my closest friends came. In the afternoon his heart stopped again. They took him in to unclog the stent that was plugged with platelets. While still in the lab, he had a second major heart attack. This one was bad enough they had to shock him multiple times, run the meds through him and do chest compressions for 20 minutes before he returned. During this time we were told so many things. When the doctor eventually gathered us into a room for a family meeting we were beyond devastated. Though my step mom is technically the next of kin, it was a round table discussion about what we thought was best for my dad. We were told he was 40 minutes total without oxygen, that the chances of him having any mental capacity (not being a vegetable) were slim to none and that it was a matter of when his next heart attack would be, not if he was going to have one. This would be one of the hardest times of my life. Trying to decide what I thought my dad would want for his quality of life and telling my family I wanted to issue a do not resuscitate order. My dad. My family is fairly isolated from medical talk or events with the exception of my mom who is an icu nurse. I knew from her expression and from what the doctors were saying that he was not likely going to ever be my dad again. I may have his body, but not my dad, the essence of the man who has accomplished so much in his life. My grandma told me I had no faith, that I was not strong and that I was giving up on my dad. She wanted him to do physio that he would get better. She could not be convinced that there had to be an operating mind and body in order to do physio and recuperate. I felt alone outside my mom. My step mom was, as you can imagine, a mess. Not only did she save his life, but she was also tasked with making the decision not to save it again. I will never be able to thank her enough for what she did and allowing us the chance to say goodbye to my dad. After what seemed like an eternity, another doctor came in. He said though his prognosis was not different than the previous doctors, he wanted to let my dad guide the treatment. That while he was in the lab having the stent cleared, they placed a temporary pacemaker and a balloon pump around his heart. The balloon pump would assist the heart pumping and take some of the stress off of the muscles. He told us because my dad was cold at the time of the second heart attack, he may not have suffered as badly as he did from the first one. But because of the second heart attack, they could not keep him cold as it was too unstable and they would have to start warming him up. Yhe doctor wanted to move my dad to the cardiac icu where the nurses knew how to care for the balloon pump and we would see if he could my it to the morning. Ultimately, the doctor was leaving the decision of living up to my dad. Saturday was a day of pins and needles. Of sitting around the bedside nearly all day. I think I may have forced myself to go home and shower, I'm not quite sure. On Saturday I thought about it and I told my dad that I needed him. I needed him to fight for himself and for me. That if he would hold on for 3 days, and just not give up, I wouldn't be angry with him. That after 3 days, he wanted to let go because he couldn't fight any longer or because he didn't like where he was heading, I would understand. But I needed him to fight for 3 days so I could make peace. I quickly lengthened this agreement to 4 days, simply because I realized I couldn't handle 3 days until being ready to lose my dad. My family left, my friends left. All that remained were my mom, my step mom and I. Now may be the time to say that despite my parents no longer being together, they remain close. They were never married. my mom and my step mom get along well. And with my moms expertise in the field, her translation and knowledge helped my step mom and I through the rough times. We were given a family room where we could lay our heads down and try to rest for a few hours until the morning. We couldn't force ourselves to leave not knowing what the next 5 minutes meant for my dad. I want to skip forward so bad. The next few days seem like a blur, and I do not want to write on because there is still so much of the story to tell and I'm exhausted. But I know this is the best for me, to let it out, and to allow myself a moment to cry and reflect on this time of my life where I realized my true adoration and love for my dad. This day would be Sunday. My dad was admitted shortly after 12am friday morning. My dad made it to the morning despite everyone's warning and claims. The doctor said they wanted to wake my dad up for a short period of time to see if there was any brain activity. Throughout the night, they slowly warmed him up and took him off the sedatives. I woke up to my step mom running in the room saying "you have to wake up, it's your dad" apparently before this she said it was good news but i didn't hear it, i was still asleep. I was putting my runners on tripping over myself and not giving a damn about the fact I wasn't wearing a bra while running down the hall. My dad opened his eyes!! Further to that, he was able to squeeze the doctor's hands and follow his commands. I got to see my dads blue grey eyes for moments before they resedated him. My dad wasn't brain dead, my dad didn't have another heart attack. he was in there. my dad. The doctor told us there was someone worth fighting for. And as long as my dad was fighting then he would fight for him. Sunday was a day of celebration of how hard my old man could fight. We were all bargaining with him, the things we would do if he would just keep fighting on, keep trying. Such a stubborn man, my dad. A balloon pump can only stay in for 72 hours then the side effects outweigh the benefits. My dads feet starting turning blue, a symptom that the circulation was being cut off because of the balloon pump taking up too much of the artery. They made the decision it had to be taken out. I was so scared. Without the balloon pump, what if his heart wasn't strong enough to beat on its own? What if it simply decided it was too fatigued or weak from the damage and wanted to take a break. Once a balloon pump is removed it cannot be installed again. By the afternoon, they had completed removed my dad's pump. His heart was holding its own beat though he was using the pacemaker on a regular basis. This huge step forward would be thwarted by the doctors most recent news that my dad was developing ARDS, a potentially fatal lung condition. ARDS is when the small sacs in your lungs continuously fill up with water. You cannot suction it out because you would simply irritate the sacs and they would refill with water. It is a condition that can be remedied, but for someone in my dad's condition it just as easily be fatal. For the next day we would worry about my dads ability to breath on his own and think about he possibility of removing his breathing tube and replacing it with a tracheotomy. Because he was off all the equipment, they wanted to take him off of sedation again to see if he could wake up. Monday night would be the first night staying away from the hospital, staying away from my dad. Next to Friday, Tuesday may have been one of the hardest days of my life. We arrived in the morning and spent some time with him, even though it has been a considerable amount of time, my dad was showing no signs of waking up. We were told they wanted to take my dad in for a CT scan, to see if there were any underlying reasons as to the delay in his waking up. The last time the took him off sedation it took 17 hours, it was nearing that mark. When I was told he was going in for the CT I was petrified. I did not want him to have to go for the CT. Everyone kept saying it was to rule out the bad things and that if nothing showed up it was a good sign. I knew something was wrong. I didn't want them to risk making him unstable by moving him for the test and I didn't want them to discover that something, or nothing, was wrong. We left to do something, I think go home. It was quiet hours anyway and if my dad was going for the test we couldn't see him. I didn't want to leave though- this time I knew there was going to be something wrong with my dad. When we came back, maybe at 3, I went in the room to see my dad. I will never forget this moment in my life. I saw the nurse, probably not much older than myself, and I asked her how the CT went. Her only reply was that the doctor was going to come out and talk to us shortly. I didn't fall, but I know I had to hold on to the bed to keep myself vertical. They found something. Something was wrong. There was a reason my dad wasn't waking up. I remember standing there crying and trying to deal with my dad being brain dead. I didn't want them to do that test, I almost felt as it by not doing it nothing would have been wrong with my dad. The doctor came out to tell us about my dad and the CT. It showed that over the years my dad had a number of small strokes, but very recently he had a larger one. This was most likely the reason my dad was not waking up. He was calling in a neurologist to look over the scan to make the final report because he was not a neurologist and couldn't say this for sure. I will never forget asking if I could go see my dad and leaving the room abruptly. I thought it was my step mom grabbing me by the shoulders in the hallway but when I turned around it was the nurse who just said "i am so sorry" and hugged me with tears in her eyes. I do not think I ever held on to anyone so hard in my life. Her gesture of kindness and sorrow was so moving and it made me cry even harder. She took me to my dad's bedside where I tried to reason with him. I told him that his 4 days were not up, and therefore he couldn't give up yet. I don't know how long I stayed in there, sitting next to him, laying my head on his warm hand and watching the rise and fall of his chest- it made him seem so alive, like he was sleeping, dreaming even. I had to remind myself that just because he was breathing it did not mean that the man i knew was in there. It seemed worse that he was alive but not with me, that he would be taken in spirit yet remain on earth. It did not seem fair to me, my family or my dad. I looked up at some point to see that the neurologist and the cardiologist were looking over my dads scan. I had to leave so he could look over my dad and had to go back to the family room. The doctors came back in to update us. The neurologist couldn't pinpoint when the stroke happened- whether it was before, during or after my dad's initial heart attack. At any rate, he did not think it was affecting my dad's ability to wake up. The stroke was in a part of the brain that would affect many other major abilities like speech, recognition, motor movements, but not consciousness. He thought my dad was just taking his time waking up. We thanked him for what now seemed to be good news and two by two made our way in to say good night. My family went to walk around and take the news while i went back in to talk to him, continue to bargain with him. The night was closing in and that would have ended our 4 day agreement. He needed to keep fighting. That was when one of the most miraculous things happened. He slowly opened his eyes. Not much, there was no recognition, but I got to see the blue grey of my dads eyes. I ran, got my step mom, found my mom. I ran through the whole hospital tracking down my family so they could see the life altering image I just saw. I remember my 91 year old grandma running down the hall to see the opening of my dad's eyes. On Wednesday we were told that all our bargaining with my dad was making him agitated, that he was trying to hard all the time with us egging him on. He needed quiet, he needed rest. Though we stayed for a good portion of the day in the waiting room, we left early to give him the time he needed to heal. I decided for the first time since my dad's heart attack to go back to my apartment and pack some items. I had stayed at the hospital for the first few nights and at my dad's for a couple after that. My boyfriend had been bringing me clean underwear and a couple pairs of pants every day. Bless him, but he kept bringing me my workout shirts, once that said mixed martial arts in big letters across the back. I went home to pack some real clothes, it was such a nice thought, two of J's friends stopped by to drop off not only a pack of beer, but also homemade cookies. They truly are wonderful people. I grabbed a couple beers and a handful of cookies and went to go stay at my moms for the night. While driving to her apartment, I could hear my dad's voice in my head "have you checked your oil lately". I don't know why, but I stopped and checked my oil. I was flat out. I didn't know what kind of oil my car needed and had to dig the manual out of my trunk. I ended up standing in the gas station with my car manual in one hand reading the bottle of oil in the other wishing that I could just call and ask what kind of oil I needed. I realized that all I wanted to do, what i needed to do but yet couldn't do, was consult my dad. Thursday was similar, we sat, we waited for him to wake up, but there was nothing more than a slow flicker of the eyes. We knew that we couldn't really talk to him much or touch him since it was agitating or maybe even scaring him so we sat quietly in the waiting room for most of the day. We were told they wanted us to consider a tracheotomy because he was still relying on the ventilator. My mom told my step mom to give it another day. That if my dad couldn't breath on his own, they could always trach but to give him the opportunity to breath on his own because it was an easier recovery. That night, for the first time, we all went out for dinner together. had a proper meal. I felt guilty indulging in such a thing, like I should have been sitting with my dad, starving myself too because he couldn't eat. I remember staying at my moms that night, realizing that I could undelete voicemails on my iphone. I think I totaled 29 voicemails from my dad. Ones from almost exactly a year prior. I sat on my hideabed, crying and holding my phone. I just wanted to hear my dads voice. I wanted him to yell. I wanted him to tell me his life lessons and remind me that he once ran a crew of over 100 men and that gave him the authority to claim he knew it all. I wanted him to tell me on the phone "hi val, its your father." but I couldn't listen to them. I couldn't settle for hearing his voice over the tinny speaker of my phone. I wanted his voice, I wanted my dad. All of this brings me to Friday. Exactly one week later. I had received a call the night before telling me that they were planning on taking my dad back to the ICU, this was a good thing, it was a step down from cardiac. I was also told they were hopeful that they could remove his breathing tube the next day. none of the could have prepared me for the next time I would see my dad. Friday morning. I woke up, my mom phoned to see how he is. They had taken the breathing tube out. We made our coffee and went to the hospital. I walked down the hall to go to ICU, I phoned and get told I can come in. I turned left, walked down the hall. My dad's room wasn't there, I went right, walk down the hall and found his room. There he was. Breathing tube out. My dad was sat up in bed, wearing his glasses. He was awake! My dad! My dad took one look at me, he looked at the nurse, and he said "that is my daughter" Since that day my dad has made leaps and bounds towards his recovery. he was transferred shortly after to the cardiac step down unit where they placed in a permanent pacemaker/defibrillator and monitored his progress. My dad told me about the dreams he had while under. About being in a truck trying to escape mad doctors who were tracking him down and putting them in the back of a semi that was converted into a medical clinic. All the lights were the colours of an ambulance truck's lights. My dad was discharged so he could be home for Christmas. I had been planning a south American trip with my mom for christmas and was supposed to leave 5 days after my dad woke up. He sat there and continuously told me to go on my trip. I was able to go to macchu pichu on christmas day and phone him via skype and tell him about my experience. I was able to phone him and share my stories because he was still alive. My dad has been out of the hospital for just over a month, his heart attack nearly 2 months behind us and I can only write about it now. This whole entry has been written through tears and a startling reminder what all we went through to get my dad back and what all he went through to come back to us. My dad goes by many names: dad, daddy, father, old man, old guy and poppy. My dad is a stubborn, ferocious man who fought for life. He is a man who never gives up and I am starting to believe will never give up, even when the going gets tough. He has that presence, the kind that can be felt the moment he enters the room. He is known by many people. The out poor of concern and compassion by those who know him was remarkable. This journey has led me to so many discoveries. There is so much more to this that I cannot express through words yet. So much I am missing and I hope I find the courage to fill in the holes. I am at the healing process and have to keep believing that he will continue to make progress and stop worrying all the time about him. I have to remind myself not to always be so strong and to let myself stop and cry, to show my own feelings and recognize what I have been through as well. I read a quote that has struck a chord in me "people cry not because they are weak, but because they have been strong for too long." The last piece that I hold onto so dearly, and whether or not it worked or it is purely coincidence, I will never know. I made the agreement with my dad on Saturday. That he had to fight for four days. On the fourth day I was told of his stroke and that he may be brain dead. On the fourth night, nearing the end of our agreement, my dad started to open his eyes. He kept his end of the bargain. He never did promise something he couldn't deliver on. All I can say to end this post is I am so grateful for what I have been given, my dad. 5:50 p.m. - 2012-01-28 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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