It’s 3a EST and I’ve just returned from the hospital. I’m hopped up on coffee and adrenaline, so the odds of me going to sleep any time soon are slim. I wanted to say ‘thank you’ to everyone on FriendFeed who has shared their kind words and support, however I found I had more to say than the space would allow. So, I’m posting it here.
This is my second trip to the ER within a week: last week we spent four fun-filled hours dealing with my husband’s first kidney stone. In hindsight, last Monday was a walk in the park because today my father had a stroke. The scary thing is that it may very well not be his first one.
Daddy is 51, still young in this day and age. He’s been to the hospital twice in my lifetime: once for out-patient knee surgery, and once 20+ years ago when he was a construction worker (he fell off a building). Other than that, he’s always been healthy as a horse.
But a year or two ago he had an episode of faintness where it was hard to stand and speak. The doctor said it was too much coffee on an empty stomach. This past November he stopped driving because his eyesight suddenly got worse (previously he had 20/10 vision). Even after he got his new glasses, he said things still didn’t look right and drove as little as possible, never at night.
And now he’s laying in a hospital bed, curled on his side looking smaller than me. Well, technically speaking he is, by about 10 pounds… And I’m left wondering about those episodes over the past two years.
While I know it’s common for stroke victims to make a very full recovery, I’m still preparing myself for something worse. His body has already bounced back: he couldn’t stand or walk at 7p tonight and at 10p he flew through the neurologist’s physical tests with no issues. But he couldn’t see properly: anything more than 12 inches away didn’t get a reaction. He’s not speaking properly, nor fully comprehending what he’s hearing. The doctor had to pantomime the actions for the physical test.
He didn’t know how old he was, or my mother’s name. I don’t know that he knew which one was me and which was my sister. It didn’t even register with him when the doctor said he’d had a stroke, an hour later he asked what was wrong with him.
So now I find myself hoping for the best but planning for the worst. It’s a bad habit of mine, actually, so in a way this morbid train of thought is familiar and comforting. He closed his business last month, and with it went the insurance. The bills will start coming and odds are he won’t be in a position to work (at least, not for some time). Where he’s going to live, how he’s going to get to therapy, how we’re going to keep his prescriptions filled…
It’s too much to think about, but at the same time I can’t help it. I’m supposed to be getting a couple hours of sleep while my husband camps out at the hospital until work, but I think sleep will prove elusive tonight. Perhaps tomorrow will prove to be a better day.
ADDENDUM
Just so no one will think that I’m entirely morose and loosing my oddball sense of character, let me tell you the story about the broken hearted meatloaf picnic in the ER waiting room.
My soon-to-be-ex brother-in-law (STBeBIL) was supposed to bring a meatloaf to our house tonight for dinner: I was starting mashed potatoes when my mom called. My family has a tradition of eating heart-shaped meatloaf for Valentine’s Day, and STBeBIL had made his own heart-shaped meatloaf since he wouldn’t be joining us for Saturday’s festivities (what with him and my sister splitting up and all).
STBeBIL was already on his way to our house, so we called him to let him know we were headed to my mom’s. The amublance was leaving when we got there and we immediately headed to the hospital. So, we placed another call to STBeBIL telling him to change his route to go there instead. Now, STBeBIL has a horrible sense of direction, he couldn’t find his way our of a paper bag. He made it to the hospital after changing his GPS three times, one for each intended destination. And tonight’s meatloaf was still in tow.
After a few hours in the waiting room we were all getting nibbly and started joking about bringing in the meatloaf. The liaison brought us cups and forks and said it wouldn’t be a problem, so STBeBIL and my husband promptly headed to the car and came back with 5 pounds of meatloaf. Which, by the way, was wrapped in aluminum foil and had to go past a metal detector.
So we get ready to unwrap the meatloaf and STBeBIL says he has to explain something first. Basically, he’d made the heart-shaped meatloaf but since he’s getting a divorce he thought it’d be funny to make a statement with it: he’d broken the heart in half. Which is kinda funny, until you find yourself sitting in the critical care waiting room with your soon to be ex and about to eat said meatloaf…
And hey, at least we weren’t there for a heart attack. Then the broken hearted meatloaf would’ve been all kinds of wrong.
