Bad Blogger.
Hi.
I'm sorry it's been so long since I last blogged. Many of you know why my blog has gone silent. But for those of you who don't ...
My father passed away a month ago.
It went like this:
He came here to visit for Christmas, and was unusually cranky, driving me even more crazy, and was a hair more hurtful than normal even for him (and who knows, maybe I gave back as good as I got.)
He visited some friends afterwards, and started not feeling well. It continued once he got home, and he wound up in the hospital. He called me to let me know on New Year's Eve.
We talked periodically, and he was due to be released a week or so later. I called him on his birthday and couldn't reach him - turns out he was only home for 48 hours and was right back in the hospital.
After a few days, they determined that he was expected to stay in for about six weeks. So I went home for just under a week to take care of some things for him. He was kinda freaked out that he had yet to pay January's rent, among other things.
I did that, as well as have his apartment cleaned and restocked. He graciously gave me power of attorney (and "the boys," my wonderful Dane and Michael, schlepped out mid-day to witness ... actually, first Michael drew it up for me, LOL), and he also graciously signed a document allowing Molly, a friend of mine he's never met let alone ever heard me mention, complete access to his medical records.
I was concerned, because I thought a six-week stay seemed pretty intense, but also because I didn't see in him his usual fight. I also was especially concerned that he wasn't reading. At all. He was lying in that bed, day in and day out, letting his brain rot, which just seemed unusual. I offered to bring him books, a paper, anything - he didn't want it.
As it turned out, he also started rejecting physical therapy. At this point, he'd hardly been out of bed in a month, so he was going to need to get his body back into shape.
I went home, concerned but not panic-stricken.
About two weeks later, I got a call from the physicians, as they were bringing him into surgery. I went back for four or five days, and watched him get better and then worse. He seemed to be recovering just fine from the surgery, and then one day he became non-responsive. Just stared. For about 24 hours. After that he started showing signs of understanding again, including the perfectly formed question, "What?"
I went home - as I had booked a round-trip ticket - and was called to come back immediately after. Like, within about 36 hours.
They didn't just call me to come back, they forced me to make major medical decisions within a matter of hours. I will not go into detail here, but I am very grateful not only to my amazing co-workers, but to my wonderful husband (of course), my cousin Laurie, the afore-mentioned Molly, and an ICU nurse who I never ever got to meet but spent 20 minutes on the phone with me.
I never want to experience anything like that again, nor do I wish it on anyone.
I went home, made my four-times-daily vigil to ICU. In the wee hours of the morning Tuesday, he passed away. I was there with him. I know that I'm glad I was there, but I'm also not sure how long that will haunt me.
The services, such as they were, were the following week. Dick came out over the weekend, and we flew home together on Tuesday.
I know I left all the medical details out of this story. Does it matter, at this point?
I'm sorry it's been so long since I last blogged. Many of you know why my blog has gone silent. But for those of you who don't ...
My father passed away a month ago.
It went like this:
He came here to visit for Christmas, and was unusually cranky, driving me even more crazy, and was a hair more hurtful than normal even for him (and who knows, maybe I gave back as good as I got.)
He visited some friends afterwards, and started not feeling well. It continued once he got home, and he wound up in the hospital. He called me to let me know on New Year's Eve.
We talked periodically, and he was due to be released a week or so later. I called him on his birthday and couldn't reach him - turns out he was only home for 48 hours and was right back in the hospital.
After a few days, they determined that he was expected to stay in for about six weeks. So I went home for just under a week to take care of some things for him. He was kinda freaked out that he had yet to pay January's rent, among other things.
I did that, as well as have his apartment cleaned and restocked. He graciously gave me power of attorney (and "the boys," my wonderful Dane and Michael, schlepped out mid-day to witness ... actually, first Michael drew it up for me, LOL), and he also graciously signed a document allowing Molly, a friend of mine he's never met let alone ever heard me mention, complete access to his medical records.
I was concerned, because I thought a six-week stay seemed pretty intense, but also because I didn't see in him his usual fight. I also was especially concerned that he wasn't reading. At all. He was lying in that bed, day in and day out, letting his brain rot, which just seemed unusual. I offered to bring him books, a paper, anything - he didn't want it.
As it turned out, he also started rejecting physical therapy. At this point, he'd hardly been out of bed in a month, so he was going to need to get his body back into shape.
I went home, concerned but not panic-stricken.
About two weeks later, I got a call from the physicians, as they were bringing him into surgery. I went back for four or five days, and watched him get better and then worse. He seemed to be recovering just fine from the surgery, and then one day he became non-responsive. Just stared. For about 24 hours. After that he started showing signs of understanding again, including the perfectly formed question, "What?"
I went home - as I had booked a round-trip ticket - and was called to come back immediately after. Like, within about 36 hours.
They didn't just call me to come back, they forced me to make major medical decisions within a matter of hours. I will not go into detail here, but I am very grateful not only to my amazing co-workers, but to my wonderful husband (of course), my cousin Laurie, the afore-mentioned Molly, and an ICU nurse who I never ever got to meet but spent 20 minutes on the phone with me.
I never want to experience anything like that again, nor do I wish it on anyone.
I went home, made my four-times-daily vigil to ICU. In the wee hours of the morning Tuesday, he passed away. I was there with him. I know that I'm glad I was there, but I'm also not sure how long that will haunt me.
The services, such as they were, were the following week. Dick came out over the weekend, and we flew home together on Tuesday.
I know I left all the medical details out of this story. Does it matter, at this point?
posted by Tracy @ 3:53 PM
2 Comments:
At 1:45 PM,
Anonymous said…
My condolences, Tracy. I know how hard that is to go through. It's an experience I would have preferred to miss. It will take time, but life will return to normal eventually. Spend some extra time with your loved ones. The worst thing you can do is be alone.
At 9:01 PM,
Rodney said…
I'm so sorry for your loss.
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