The Weekend From Hell

There I was on Saturday minding my own business, almost done with work, just about to get up and clean the house when Bam! It all went to hell. All of a sudden I was 11 again. This picture was taken a week before his accident. I was so happy then. It was like my light went out.

I should preface this by saying that it was suckage on a whole other level already, because my husbands dee-oh-gee of 16 years was in the throes of death. We knew that was happening and I was prepared for her passage, kind of.

My phone rang and I saw the call was from my parents and I figured they were just calling to say hi and ask whether or not we received the Levis my mom sent.

Yep, we did. Thanks mom…

The call was from my dad, though I didn’t even recognize his voice. He sounded like a drunk, a deaf drunk.  He made no sense at all.

Me: Hello (cheerily)

Him: Helllllllo

Me: Who is this?

Him: It’sssss you daaaaaad.

Me: What is wrong?

Him: Nothing, I jusssssssst calllllled to say Hi. ( keep in mind he hates the phone and doesn’t ever call to say hi)

Me: What is wrong with you? Do I need to come down there right now?

Him: No I’m fine

Me:  NO, you’re not. What is wrong— where is mom? let me talk to mom. ( by this time I was crying and Whit sent the boys out of the room because I couldn’t hear)

My mom took over the phone and she said my dad was sick , incoherent  and refusing to go to the hospital.  I was freaking out!!!

That call was at 1 pm and after several calls back and forth over the next couple of hours and a flurry of information and decisions. I left Seattle at 7:35 and  landed in LA at 9:45pm.

My dad is kind of okay, but not out of the woods yet. He’s septic. Have you ever looked at the statistics of someone with sepsis? They are daunting and scary and I will never look at them again.

His hemoglobin is at 5.3. If that means nothing to you, the norm is 17 or 18. His white blood cell count is supposed to be below 10,000. His doctor said that a severe infection count is 10,000 and my dad’s count was 50,000. His incoherence was due to the fact that there was so much infection in his blood and so little blood. There was so much infection that there wasn’t any room for oxygen.

He’s on about 17 different antibiotics for the plethora of infections that he has. He’s cold, he’s hot, he’s tired, he fakes it when he has visitors. He can’t catch his breath, he has no appetite, he can’t sleep, he’s reminiscing.

What does that mean? Is he getting any better?

I don’t know. Earlier today I would have said that he was on his last leg, which is funny because he only has one. Morbid I know, but hey it’s my fear so pfffft.Then later this afternoon he faked it for the visitors and he sounded so great, but he’s so tired.

He’s been a quadriplegic for 25 years. His system is run down, his organs are weak, he’s lethargic.

Sometimes he’s good, sometimes he’s bad.

I’m afraid!

He’s told stories I’ve never heard, given insights I never knew. Needless to say it’s been quite the roller coaster of emotion. I’ve cried without listening to music, been in the depths of despair and laughed like a child. I’ve traveled down memory lane and had my heart hurt more than it has in a long time.

I realized that this is why I don’t let anyone in, why I have such a hard time with emotion. It’s nothing I’ve done. I thought it was me. It’s not necessarily anything he’s done, it’s the situation. I couldn’t handle it and shut down and have been that way for 25 years. That makes me sick to my stomach, but I’m glad to know. Maybe I can move forward now, slowly. Don’t expect any miracles though.

Even in his sickness I’m still learning from my dad.

Whatever happens to him, this is how I will remember him. This is how I think of him all the time. Active, vivacious, an athlete, laughing, caring, my daddy!