And Now for Something Completely Different...
Sunday August 16th, 2009... It was supposed to be a day to
catch up after a camping trip. It was supposed to be a day
filled with moving a friend from Connecticut to
Massachusetts.
It wasn't supposed to be a day to find out my father had had a mild heart attack and needed emergency angioplasty.
Alison and I had gone camping for the weekend. In fact, I spent most of the day Saturday doing nothing other than sitting by a fire working on some art and relaxing. We were with some good people. Doug, Barb, Dave and Alison and me. At some point in the day, our conversations turned more serious, and it was discovered that three of our parents had quadruple bypass surgeries in the past. Dave's dad didn't make it. Barb's mom was doing ok after 6 years, but not taking her health seriously enough. And our father had gone 13 years with no issues, but was starting to eat too many damn donuts! It was an interesting and heartbreaking conversation. You only get one body, after all. Second chances should be enough, right?
Alison and I left the campground around 10 yesterday morning. The plan was to go home, shower and change, and head over to Danbury to meet our friend who needed our help packing her stuff into a truck. As soon as I walked in the house, my father was walking out to go sit in the screened porch. I asked my mom how their party was the day before. She said "It was great, but your father was having chest pains all day." It seems that he was having these pains since Saturday morning. I was a little frustrated that no one made him go get checked out, does he have to drop to the ground before someone does something? That's what I was thinking, and apparently I was right. Fortunately for my father, and my family, he didn't have to drop to the ground.
I went outside to see him. I asked him what was happening, where his pain was, what his other symptoms were. When your arteries are clogged, you can be having a heart attack for days without major pain or other "classic" symptoms. His were few. Chest pain in the upper part of his chest (he thought it was heartburn), and he was tired. I looked at him, he looked pale. I felt his head and his arms, they seemed cold and clammy. I have a stethoscope (hey, EVERY hypochondriac has one... I think), I went to get it after telling him the first time that he was going to the hospital. When I came back downstairs, he had his shirt unbuttoned so that I could listen to his heart. While steady and even, it sounded different... weak perhaps. It wasn't a healthy bounding heartbeat, it was subdued. I didn't tell him that, I simply walked inside and told my mom we had to get him to the hospital.
I went back outside to him and told him to get up and put his shoes on. We were going no matter what, and if he didn't get up then, I was calling the ambulance. For some reason people HATE ambulance rides, so that got his butt in gear. Here's a note though- no matter how stubborn someone is, call an ambulance. We are only five minutes from the hospital, but an ambulance has life-saving people and apparatus on board. Kind of a good thing.
Alison and I got in the car, and my dad came waltzing down a few moments later. He looked like he was going to work, or going to get a haircut. Off we went to hospital number 1 on the day- New Milford. I asked him again what his symptoms were, kept him talking, reassured him that it didn't sound major, and his tests would be done in a matter of minutes. I was partially right.
The ER took him right in, and by the time I came in from parking the car, he was having an EKG and blood work. I was in a daze for most of this. The doctor came in, said his EKG was abnormal. He said he was going to transfer him to Danbury Hospital so that he could get an angiogram, no matter what the blood tests showed. Blood tests came back after a while, and when the doctor told my father he had, or was having, a heart attack... I could see that he was not only scared, but mad at himself. He wasn't taking care of himself, and he knew it. The drugs he is on to control cholesterol and blood pressure can only do so much. Alison left to go pick up our mom and drive her to Danbury Hospital. My father and I would be riding in an ambulance.
I was trying desperately to keep it together. I didn't want him to be scared. I went outside to make some phone calls to keep my mind occupied. On my third trip outside, who should I see walking out the door but Father Mike from Saint Francis Xavier Church, the guy who was there for my Grandmother's illness and passing. I said hey Father Mike, my dad's inside, come say hello... and of course he did. He said more than hello. He gave him Communion, and read two healing sacraments. I could see my dad's eyes welling up with tears that wouldn't quite fall. He knew he was in trouble, and he also knew that Father Mike's hands had blessed his mother 6 months ago. When Father Mike left, I went outside and cried my eyes out. I could no longer hold all of that in. We aren't Catholic, I'm not religious at all in fact, but it was still special and it scared the crap out of me to see it.
I came back inside, washed my face in the bathroom, and went to sit with my dad. He said "That was something that he was here." and I asked him why. "I was just thinking about my mother", he replied. And I lost it again. Oh well. There's only so much I can take.
The ambulance came, and it was a long ride to Danbury. It seemed to take forever. In fact, the rest of the day seemed to take forever. I don't know when we got to Danbury, it must have been about two... They rolled him in, and we went up to the 7th floor. Critical Care. I don't really like those words put together like that. Couldn't they call it something else? Like 'We'll save your papa' Care? He had to wait for his angiogram, and in the meantime, 5 different doctors and nurses came in to ask him the same 50 questions. Finally, he was in. My mom and I went to get some food and relax. It was about 4:30, and I had been in a hospital (or ambulance) since 11:30. I had seen one dead body already- while in New Milford, they brought the 15 year old kid that drowned in the Housatonic river in. Note to self, LOOK AWAY. Jeez... Needless to say, I needed some 'down time'.
When we got back to the hospital, they weren't even close to be done with my dad. I knew enough to know that if they were taking this long, they were fixing him. Every 5 or ten minutes, we'd go out in the hall and spy on the outside of the door. Amazingly, you can hear everything through Danbury Hospital's Cath Lab door. I heard his little heart monitor beeping away, and the doctor talking to everyone about cultivation of tomatoes or whatever it was he had on his mind. Very comforting when you can hear the 'just another day at the office' talk.
All done. Doctor came out, told us what he had to do, and while I tried to listen, I have no clue really... Stent, blockage, new medication... blah blah blah... When can we see him? About a half an hour... So we went outside, my mom, my sister and I. My brother and his girlfriend came, we explained what happened. And my brother, after saying that I saved my father's life, made a funny little joke. According to him, my father chose the hospital and emergency surgery over listening to me bitch for the rest of the day. Ha. I guess he is right.
If my uber-vigilant, constant state of worry, bitch self hadn't shown up Sunday morning, what would have happened? What if Al and I didn't go home Sunday? I guess the what-ifs don't matter. The fact is, my dad gets a third chance. And he'd better not squander it.
People are stubborn. Parents are stubborn. Sometimes we have to kick their asses. Don't be afraid to do just that. Make some waves, threaten them with anything you can think of, just get them to go to the damn hospital!
I think when I go see my dad today, I will put my arm around him and say 'Since I saved your life, do you think I could take a month off paying rent?', and when he smiles, we'll know we have our papa back.
Thanks for reading.
The Anti-Anxiety Coach
It wasn't supposed to be a day to find out my father had had a mild heart attack and needed emergency angioplasty.
Alison and I had gone camping for the weekend. In fact, I spent most of the day Saturday doing nothing other than sitting by a fire working on some art and relaxing. We were with some good people. Doug, Barb, Dave and Alison and me. At some point in the day, our conversations turned more serious, and it was discovered that three of our parents had quadruple bypass surgeries in the past. Dave's dad didn't make it. Barb's mom was doing ok after 6 years, but not taking her health seriously enough. And our father had gone 13 years with no issues, but was starting to eat too many damn donuts! It was an interesting and heartbreaking conversation. You only get one body, after all. Second chances should be enough, right?
Alison and I left the campground around 10 yesterday morning. The plan was to go home, shower and change, and head over to Danbury to meet our friend who needed our help packing her stuff into a truck. As soon as I walked in the house, my father was walking out to go sit in the screened porch. I asked my mom how their party was the day before. She said "It was great, but your father was having chest pains all day." It seems that he was having these pains since Saturday morning. I was a little frustrated that no one made him go get checked out, does he have to drop to the ground before someone does something? That's what I was thinking, and apparently I was right. Fortunately for my father, and my family, he didn't have to drop to the ground.
I went outside to see him. I asked him what was happening, where his pain was, what his other symptoms were. When your arteries are clogged, you can be having a heart attack for days without major pain or other "classic" symptoms. His were few. Chest pain in the upper part of his chest (he thought it was heartburn), and he was tired. I looked at him, he looked pale. I felt his head and his arms, they seemed cold and clammy. I have a stethoscope (hey, EVERY hypochondriac has one... I think), I went to get it after telling him the first time that he was going to the hospital. When I came back downstairs, he had his shirt unbuttoned so that I could listen to his heart. While steady and even, it sounded different... weak perhaps. It wasn't a healthy bounding heartbeat, it was subdued. I didn't tell him that, I simply walked inside and told my mom we had to get him to the hospital.
I went back outside to him and told him to get up and put his shoes on. We were going no matter what, and if he didn't get up then, I was calling the ambulance. For some reason people HATE ambulance rides, so that got his butt in gear. Here's a note though- no matter how stubborn someone is, call an ambulance. We are only five minutes from the hospital, but an ambulance has life-saving people and apparatus on board. Kind of a good thing.
Alison and I got in the car, and my dad came waltzing down a few moments later. He looked like he was going to work, or going to get a haircut. Off we went to hospital number 1 on the day- New Milford. I asked him again what his symptoms were, kept him talking, reassured him that it didn't sound major, and his tests would be done in a matter of minutes. I was partially right.
The ER took him right in, and by the time I came in from parking the car, he was having an EKG and blood work. I was in a daze for most of this. The doctor came in, said his EKG was abnormal. He said he was going to transfer him to Danbury Hospital so that he could get an angiogram, no matter what the blood tests showed. Blood tests came back after a while, and when the doctor told my father he had, or was having, a heart attack... I could see that he was not only scared, but mad at himself. He wasn't taking care of himself, and he knew it. The drugs he is on to control cholesterol and blood pressure can only do so much. Alison left to go pick up our mom and drive her to Danbury Hospital. My father and I would be riding in an ambulance.
I was trying desperately to keep it together. I didn't want him to be scared. I went outside to make some phone calls to keep my mind occupied. On my third trip outside, who should I see walking out the door but Father Mike from Saint Francis Xavier Church, the guy who was there for my Grandmother's illness and passing. I said hey Father Mike, my dad's inside, come say hello... and of course he did. He said more than hello. He gave him Communion, and read two healing sacraments. I could see my dad's eyes welling up with tears that wouldn't quite fall. He knew he was in trouble, and he also knew that Father Mike's hands had blessed his mother 6 months ago. When Father Mike left, I went outside and cried my eyes out. I could no longer hold all of that in. We aren't Catholic, I'm not religious at all in fact, but it was still special and it scared the crap out of me to see it.
I came back inside, washed my face in the bathroom, and went to sit with my dad. He said "That was something that he was here." and I asked him why. "I was just thinking about my mother", he replied. And I lost it again. Oh well. There's only so much I can take.
The ambulance came, and it was a long ride to Danbury. It seemed to take forever. In fact, the rest of the day seemed to take forever. I don't know when we got to Danbury, it must have been about two... They rolled him in, and we went up to the 7th floor. Critical Care. I don't really like those words put together like that. Couldn't they call it something else? Like 'We'll save your papa' Care? He had to wait for his angiogram, and in the meantime, 5 different doctors and nurses came in to ask him the same 50 questions. Finally, he was in. My mom and I went to get some food and relax. It was about 4:30, and I had been in a hospital (or ambulance) since 11:30. I had seen one dead body already- while in New Milford, they brought the 15 year old kid that drowned in the Housatonic river in. Note to self, LOOK AWAY. Jeez... Needless to say, I needed some 'down time'.
When we got back to the hospital, they weren't even close to be done with my dad. I knew enough to know that if they were taking this long, they were fixing him. Every 5 or ten minutes, we'd go out in the hall and spy on the outside of the door. Amazingly, you can hear everything through Danbury Hospital's Cath Lab door. I heard his little heart monitor beeping away, and the doctor talking to everyone about cultivation of tomatoes or whatever it was he had on his mind. Very comforting when you can hear the 'just another day at the office' talk.
All done. Doctor came out, told us what he had to do, and while I tried to listen, I have no clue really... Stent, blockage, new medication... blah blah blah... When can we see him? About a half an hour... So we went outside, my mom, my sister and I. My brother and his girlfriend came, we explained what happened. And my brother, after saying that I saved my father's life, made a funny little joke. According to him, my father chose the hospital and emergency surgery over listening to me bitch for the rest of the day. Ha. I guess he is right.
If my uber-vigilant, constant state of worry, bitch self hadn't shown up Sunday morning, what would have happened? What if Al and I didn't go home Sunday? I guess the what-ifs don't matter. The fact is, my dad gets a third chance. And he'd better not squander it.
People are stubborn. Parents are stubborn. Sometimes we have to kick their asses. Don't be afraid to do just that. Make some waves, threaten them with anything you can think of, just get them to go to the damn hospital!
I think when I go see my dad today, I will put my arm around him and say 'Since I saved your life, do you think I could take a month off paying rent?', and when he smiles, we'll know we have our papa back.
Thanks for reading.
The Anti-Anxiety Coach
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