When shit hits the fan, when stress has you wallowing in self pity, when it’s all you can do to keep breathing – what do you turn to to help you cope?
September 16th my Dad went in for a vascular surgery. He was nervous, I was nervous. He’s the provider for my mom, who has dementia, and organizing everything so that he could get this surgery done was no mean feat. Mom cannot be left alone anymore so between myself, my brother, my husband, Mom’s caregiver and my good friend Kathy we managed to be in all places at all times for everyone, Baby Girl and the horses included, while Dad was in the hospital and then for the first few days he was home. All was well.
Fast forward two weeks. Dad tells me he’s not feeling great. He has a fever, and chills and is throwing up. I think Flu. The next morning I come over to see him and I am shocked at how he looks. Gray. Like death has set up camp a few streets over. I see in his eyes, this is not something minor. I take him to the ER right away. Once we get in the back, the people start swarming around him. I sit back and think to myself “Shit. This is not how it was when Mom came in. This is a bit concerning. Why are there so many people?” They are putting two IV’s in – one in each arm. They are using an ultrasound machine to do it. They are taking blood and administering fluids and nobody is talking to me. Finally one of the nurses (I think) tells me they are treating him as if he is septic. He is nonchalant about this so I don’t really think much of it. We start getting results in – no pneumonia. Lungs are clear. For a man who has smoked a pack a day for 65 years this in itself is pretty amazing. Next – no flu. Well I guess it’s an infection from the surgery then? It doesn’t look too bad they tell me. Dad tries to tell them it hasn’t been right since the surgery. Never stopped weeping, doesn’t want to heal. They nod sagely. We need him to give a urine sample they say.
We wait. Five hours later they admit him. I can’t stay – Dad is alone in the hospital because I have to leave to be with my mom when her caregiver leaves for the day. At this point I don’t really realize how close he was – how dangerous his symptoms were. Nobody tells me anything. I get one phone call from a case worker who tells me what room they are moving him to. I get no further results – no information about what is wrong with him. Dad is in no condition to text or call. Everything is eerily silent.
The next day after the caregiver arrives for Mom, and getting Baby Girl to school, horses fed, I finally make it to the hospital. He is bitching non-stop about how bad his neck hurts so I know he is feeling better. Over the next few days his discharge date keeps getting moved back and nobody ever bothers to fill me in on a diagnosis. I beg my brother to come – I need him to be with Dad. When he arrives he makes heads roll until he gets some answers. Finally a diagnosis. A staph infection and septicemia. What? I google it. BLOOD POISONING. From the staph infection. From the original surgery, though no one will admit that.
My Dad waited a very long time to have this surgery. Which was supposed to help with blood circulation in his left leg. This is what he got for his trouble. A near-death experience with a bacteria called Staph. Even now, weeks later, he is home and still very sick. He is on antibiotics which must be administered by IV through a PIC line every eight hours. Guess who gets to administer the late at night one? Yours truly. Baby Girl and I are having a never ending sleepover at my parents house. (Which I am SO OVER by the way).
Like I said, Dad has been smoking for 65 years. He is 73 years old. That’s a lot of cigarettes. A lot of nicotine. A lot of reason for his veins to shut down. A lot of time to try and quit, and never succeeding.
Since he got home from the hospital he has noticed that every evening around 6:30 he starts feeling really, really bad and is short of breath. Tonight he said “I think I figured it out. The wine, I think it is the wine.” Dad likes a glass of wine every night – he enjoys it immensely. I say well Dad why don’t you try not having it tomorrow and see if you don’t feel this way? And he answers – I love that wine. I look forward to it every day. And I point out that he’s on a lot of medication and that if it IS the wine, then hopefully after he’s done with all this medicine that he could go right back to drinking it every night. He shakes his head sorrowfully.
I understand. When life hands you lemons you drink lemonade right? It’s why I can’t give up the sugar I love. Why Dad wants that wine and those cigarettes. Why we do things we KNOW are detrimental to our health. It’s not because we aren’t strong enough to quit. We are very strong people. We are stubborn and persistant and we can do ANYTHING we want to do. We have proved that over and over. But. When everything else is beyond our control and all we have left is the urge to self-sabotage, well. We do. Because it feels good in the moment. Because it’s the one thing that lets us escape for even just half a minute. And mostly, because we are so exhausted from caring for everyone else, how can we deny ourselves the one thing that feels so good?
I get it Dad. And as much as I want you to quit smoking entirely, I totally feel where you are coming from. If only eating raw green beans would have the same effect….
