I remember now. It was about the blood thinners Dad was on. We had to be sure he was off the blood thinners before the scheduled surgery for the Wednesday after I returned. Who could take him off of them? Certainly not the rehab – they needed a doctor to put in an order. We spin around and around for a full day before my brother gets the answer we need. No more blood thinners as of Tuesday, a week before the surgery. At ease, I order another drink from the bar and go back to baking.
I return on a Thursday and Dad is doing ok – he’s alone a lot but he seems to be coping. He’s going down to the dining room for meals (assisted of course), and he’s eating well. He’s watching HGTV non-stop until all my enthusiasm for the channel has been thoroughly squashed. Not only is it on every single time I am there, but whenever I call him you can hear it perfectly in the background, as it’s so loud. Turn that shit down, Dad, I tell him. He likes the one with the two redheads – Mom and daughter. The mom is bat-shit crazy he tells me. And the daughter ain’t bad to look at but she’s pregnant in every other episode.
On Monday he’s released from rehab and Baby Girl and I go to pick him up. We stop at McDonalds and get fries, which he eats in between coughing spells. The coughing is terrible – a dense, dry attempt to get something up. It’s a good thing I have a towel in the car as eventually he has to spit everything out. I am wondering what’s up as I haven’t heard this strange coughing before. He hacks and chokes all the way home. Aunt Patty is due to arrive again later that day and I happily let her take over as I am one hundred percent exhausted.
On Tuesday Aunt Patty takes Dad to his pre-op appointment which apparently goes fine, and I am told that Dad has to be there next morning at 6 am. EGADS. This means a 4:30 am wake up call for me, which honestly isn’t that bad – horse show mornings call to me. I love the sky at that time of morning, and the stillness and the chill (well not in August). Like nothing at all has happened yet and anything is still possible.
A couple hours after dropping them off I hear that the surgery goes well and I return to take them back to the house. Dad is tired of course, but functioning. We are optimistic. The biopsy results should be back by Monday. Aunt Patty can’t get Dad to eat that day, though, and every time he takes a drink he chokes and coughs. We think maybe just soreness from the surgery, maybe swelling? We don’t know yet that the tumor has basically shut off his esophagus. The epiglottis is not able to function properly so anything that goes in, goes into his lungs. These are details that we are unaware of as yet.
By Thursday Aunt Patty is really concerned about the congestion. We get a call in to his doctor and procure some antibiotics. But when the home health nurse comes later in the afternoon she tells us his oxygen levels are way too low. She says we have to take him to the ER. He is extremely congested and not getting enough oxygen. Aunt Patty takes him as I stand by at home.
This is when they stay in the ER for nine hours before they get a room. This is when we find out a whole lot of things we didn’t know. Like he has bacterial pneumonia from aspirating his own saliva. Like his throat is basically blocked. Like he’s not getting enough oxygen because he can’t breathe properly. Like things are way worse than we thought.
That was a week ago. So much has happened while Dad has been in the hospital, but on the other hand nothing has happened at all. We learned on Friday – thanks to the hospitalist doctor that called the ENT – that Dad’s cancer is called squamous cell carcinoma. We all rushed to google it. It’s just a type of throat cancer that is currently located in the tonsil. Nobody has ever said that there is more than one tumor, or spot, even though I am SURE I saw more than one on the PET scan. It has been called tonsillar cancer, throat cancer, glandular cancer. I was told that the glands are continuously excreting cancer cells. That it may not have spread to the lungs but then again it may have. The nodes are too small to do a biopsy on. Thursday through Saturday was spent trying to beat the pneumonia with antibiotics, watching HGTV and wondering about nutrition as he is not allowed to have anything by mouth.
Sunday I am with him for an hour – I try shaving him with an battery operated razor I have just purchased at Walmart. I don’t know what it is meant to shave but it certainly isn’t hair. We bemoan the lack of functionality in today’s electronics. Cheap shit from China we agree. I say I’ll take the damn thing back. Dad suddenly looks at me and says “Do you know what’s wrong with me?” I say “well you have pneumonia, Dad.” He responds with “well that beats the hell out of cancer.” I swallow hard and say “you have that, too.” Dad just looks at me and then looks away, eyes closed. We don’t say anything more about it. I saw the pain in his eyes, though.
Sunday until Wednesday was spent watching HGTV and waiting for the PEG line to be placed. As each day came and went Dad got weaker and weaker. Clinimix was given (lipids and fats) through an IV but no protein. By Tuesday when Dad was thrashing around and hallucinating he didn’t even look at his phone. He didn’t want to talk to me, as if he just couldn’t make sense that it was me that was calling him. Aunt Patty tried but he showed no interest. I didn’t go to visit him those two days as I knew Aunt Patty was leaving on Wednesday and I’d be with him all day. So I try to get things done at home while she’s still there. Aunt Patty texted me Tuesday night and told me there were days in Hell better than today. I’ve never heard or seen Aunt Patty in tears but I imagine she might have been.
We had no idea what was coming.