I had an unexpected "opportunity" present itself Thursday evening. I got a call from my older sister saying that my father was sick and that they were going to the emergency room with him. She suggested I not come down, yet, as I might be needed for a long shift later. So...I went to bed and did get a little sleep before she called me back at 2AM. Indications were that he was dealing with diverticulitis and had a complete blockage that was causing all kinds of problems.
I got to the hospital a bit after 3AM and took over, letting my sisters (two of the three were there) head for home. My father was on heavy anti-biotics, intended to clear out the infection, but also with the potential of needing surgery if the anti-biotics didn't work.
Fast forward to about 9am. After a night of tests and pokes and tubes and all such hospital stuff (and very little sleep), the doctor came in. Let me clarify, a very nice doctor who quickly exhibited both a caring attitude and great knowledge. He skipped over the ER diagnoses of diverticulitis and immediately checked my father for a hernia. Bingo! Within minutes, my father was scheduled for surgery, with the doctor choosing "sooner" (a lot) rather than later. He was prepped and on the way to surgery before 10:30.
Before they wheeled him out, my father got concerned about "things," like making sure I knew where he kept the bills that needed to be paid, and the check books, and where the list was of things my mother needs to know, and all such "just in case I die" stuff. I dismissed all that. But then my father got all teary-eyed, and said "I just wish I could see Emma Jean" (my mother). Now realize, late Thursday night, my mother had heard that we were waiting 24 hours before doing anything, and now, with just over an hour's notice, my father was going into surgery. Well..despite Atlanta traffic and a million things that could have prevented her arrival, she did manage to get to the hospital and see him very briefly before he went into surgery.
About noon, the doctor came out to tell us all had gone well. About 3, he was returned to his room and we got to see him again. He was all confused from the anesthesia, and had lots of uncomfortable tubes sticking out of him, and had to wear an oxygen mask, so he was pretty hard to get close to. And then my mother walked up to him. She couldn't really get very close -- she was able to touch the top of his head and hold his hand. He could hardly talk through the mask, and neither one of them can hear very well, so there wasn't much verbal communication. But wow, was there connection! (My eyes tear up as I type this!) It was so sweet to watch the two of them just look at each other, and communicate through the most delicate little touches.
In less than two weeks, my parents will celebrate their 70th anniversary, and then the next day my father turns 90 years old. Even with all the tubes in him, and the after-effects of the anesthesia, he's already telling the nurses and doctors that's he's got to be ready for that event. I think he will be!
Hospitals are not particularly fun places to be, and as the old joke goes, especially when you're sick. The care of the staff here has been great. Friendly and professional. They are making the best of an uncomfortable situation. I'm very appreciative of the work they're doing. May be some IT support lessons to be learned from this experience, too.
Just a quick little personal story here. Today, Valentine's Day, is Trisha's and my anniversary. Our 25th! Well...actually that's not exactly true. Today is the 25th anniversary of our first date. Yup, that's right, our first date was on Valentine's day. There's part of this story that we'll never fully understand, but the short version is: we have an arranged marriage (and I can highly recommend arranged marriages). Trisha's family and my family grew up in the same church. We actually knew each other, barely, in our teenage years. Somehow, and this is the part where the story isn't quite clear, her father, or my father, or possibly even the two of them together, conspired to have us go on a date, and the date they arranged was at their church, in front of people we had known all our lives. Talk about pressure!
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