My Dad

Last Wednesday, my father drove himself to the hospital. Becoming disoriented, he drove around for three hours before he found it even though his home is only 5 minutes away. I am told he was coughing up blood and barely breathing.

He contracted a bacterial pneumonia that was buried deep into his lungs. Of course, no one knew this at first. The doctors guessed pneumonia and put him on a bi-pap. He appeared to improve for a day, then took a turn for the worse. They ordered cat-scans, more tests, and breathing treatments that shook the bed trying to pound out the infection. He also tested positive for a staph infection in his blood and lungs.

The lack of oxygen made him disoriented and he tried to pull his tubes out and leave the room so they tied him to the bed. My father is a tall man. His feet touch the metal foot board even with his knees bent. He is miserable and in spite of everything he wasn't getting better.

So the doctors performed a surgery on his lungs and inserted a plastic tube that drains out bloody liquid.

There is a guessing quality in the medical field that always makes me feel uneasy. "We think...",they tell me, or "probably it's this..." or "it could be that..." I'm not saying that I think the doctors have done anything wrong, not at all. Its just that it always feels like they're throwing darts while blindfolded just hoping that one will land on the bulls-eye. All of their uncertainty makes the helplessness of it hit home.

In addition to surgery, they also put him on a ventilator. I have never actually seen someone on a ventilator before. In movies sure, but not in real life.

It seems like some device Edgar Allen Poe or Alfred Hitchcock would have dreamed up. He can't speak or even close his mouth. He can't move or turn over, and his hands and feet are tied. He tries to talk, but he can't even mouth words so the first day he kept moving his eyes and his eyebrows trying to tell me something. I kept naming objects, people, things, anything and he'd get frustrated the way you do when you're playing charades and no one guesses what your trying to say. I tried to give him something to write with, but he just scribbled circles and got more upset.

I walked out of the room and bawled.

When I pulled it together and went back I saw his hands were really dry and I remembered that I had a travel size bottle of lotion. I rubbed lotion on his hands and arms and those feelings of helplessness lessened a little. He closed his eyes pleasantly. I got the nurse to untie him and stretch his arms, rolling his shoulders and massaging his arms. He was really happy about that. I told him everything was going to be okay and not to worry. That his bills were being paid, his car was fine, we were fine, everything was taken care of and that he was getting better. It would be over soon.

The next day he was better and I was too. I looked for the little ways I could make him more comfortable. I put moisturizer on his lips that were dry and bloody from having to stay open so long. I put a cold wet cloth on his forehead. I taped pictures of his grandchildren where he could see them. By then he could write too.

He seems to be doing better everyday and even watched the UT football game tonight. The other good thing that has come out of this is that I have reconnected with some of my cousins, extended family and friends. I'll write more about them later, but they are awesome.