Sunday,
November 6th,
early afternoon:
"Alright, Diz. I'll be back in a bit. I'm running to the grocery store," my mother softly yelled as she climbed into her car.
"Ok," my father responded. He was puttering around in the garage before he cut the grass.
An hour or two passed.
My mother returned but the grass hadn't been cut. She piled heavy grocery bags on to her arms and followed a lugubrious trail of blood to our back door.
"You had to go shopping," my father said, sitting on the couch and holding a soggy blood-stained cloth to his face.
"Are you okay, what happened?" she asked, panicked.
"I fell."
"You fell? What do you mean you fell?" my mother asked confused.
"Call Doctor Pepe, I think I broke a tooth."
Hours passed.
Every towel, napkin, and tampon was thrown in the trashcan, soaked in shades of red.
"Seriously, Diz. We need to get you to a hospital," my mother urged.
After an unnecessary amount of prompting, my dad finally agreed to go.
Forty-five minutes later my phone rang.
"Care, we're at Jefferson hospital. Dad was getting ready to cut the grass and fell. The doctor said he broke his jaw. They are going to check on his heart because we still don't know why he's been passing out. They think it was another heart attack."
For months, off and on, my father has been winded, weak, and having fainting spells. His Primary Care Physican said his numbers looked good and it was nothing much to worry about.
"Shit," I said. I hope he's okay, let me know what they say."
"Dad will be here overnight. I'll update you in the morning."
Immediately, I called my brother.
"John, dad is in the hospital. He HAD to cut the grass. He knows he shouldn't cut the grass anymore," I complained.
"I know," he continued, "I wish he'd just hire someone. This would have never happened..."
That night we had no idea what was about to come.
Monday, November 7th, early morning:
I felt like calling my father to say hi but I didn't. It'd be impossible to talk with a broken jaw, I thought.
I headed to work and exchanged text messages with my mom.
Everything seemed to be okay.
"Update me throughout the day," I begged.
My parents sat in the hospital room. My Dad had breakfast. He said it was the best cream of wheat he's ever had. My Mom imagined it was the morphine talking.
"I'm going to grab you a few pairs of underwear. You'll feel better when you're freshened up," my mother said.
"Make it a few," he replied, "It might be a few more days."
"Okay. I'll be back shortly."
It has been 15 days since that conversation.
It has been 15 days since my parents have talked.
In that time, my father has coded, gone in to cardiac arrest, and received CPR for 40 minutes. With no pulse but a hint of electrical activity, his body kept fighting and the doctors did too.
It's not his time, we pleaded desperately.
Please dad, please stay.
Luke and I drove home to be by his side. Together, me and my family held on to each other, tighter than ever before.
In addition to his broken jaw and bruised face, he has a matching set of fractured ribs and tubes that go in and out of places you wouldn't want to imagine.
2 Liters of fluid has been drained from his chest as he fights pneumonia and a tracheostomy has replaced his ventilator for assisted breathing.
He underwent a risky procedure, receiving a new stint which took a 95% blockage to 0. He is being supplied blood-pressure medication, Ativan, Fentanyl, Dopamine, units of blood, and nutrition to keep him stable.
His gut is inflamed from the CPR and the doctors aren't quite sure how much damage his brain sustained.
I've gone through the grieving process three times now.
But, after two long and torturous weeks of small steps forward and backward,
we celebrate.
Today, my father opened his eyes, conscious and aware, and smiled.
He has been weaned off many of the IV's and can sit in a chair. My mother
rushed over, painfully excited to re-connect. He grabbed her hand,
pulled it up to his mouth, and gave it a kiss.
"Care loves you, she's constantly thinking about you," she reminded him. He mouthed back "Tell her I love her, too."
For the next few hours, my mother filled him in on the past two weeks. Shortly after, my brother and godfather arrived, excited to connect and share stories. They watched my dad's eyes light up and his face fill with expression. Everyone was in awe.
And while we know we have a long road ahead, we linger on the word 'ahead'
.
The word that keeps inspiring us.
The idea that there's a future.
Letters that we hang onto like they're as precious as gold.
There are still plenty of hurdles to overcome but for today, we all celebrate. And tonight, I go to sleep knowing I have my dad.
To anyone who is reading this:
If you think its a bother to call someone you love, call them anyway. It's worth thinking you're annoying.
If you think you're too busy to visit your parents, find the time. Don't be afraid to ask for help.
If you're overly stressed about money, forget about it. You can't take it with you.
And to everyone who has been a support to me and my family during this difficult time, tonight,
celebrate with us too.
