I took this picture of Dad this spring with the mustard of Grant Road Farm behind him. His face is obscured by the shadows of late afternoon. I was just walking into my house from my strength training class at the YMCA, when my cell phone started ringing at 7:20 on Tuesday night. It was Dad's caregiver telling me there was something wrong with Dad and they had called 911.
I discovered I could cover the 9/10 mile from my place to theirs in about two minutes. I arrived just at the EMTs were pulling in in their big white fire truck.
Dad was on the floor near his bed. His eyelids were fluttering and he wasn't aware of his surroundings. The EMTs took his blood pressure and it was really low, so they lifted him onto the bed and raised his legs. He had already begun to come around by then and waved at me when he saw me. Relief.
As they put Dad on the bed he told the firemen that he "had just returned from military service" and they smiled. "We've been here before," one said. They were three big, nice young men and the sum of their ages was likely less than Dad's total. Later two more arrived. It was a pretty large group for Dad's bedroom: five EMTs, Dad, Mom, me and his caregiver.
Dad's blood pressure began to come back. His blood oxygenation was 99% and his heart beat was strong, so we didn't take him to the hospital. After they left he looked at me and said: "What are you doing here in the middle of the night?" And then he went to sleep.
It seems he had been in his wheelchair and his caregiver was removing his shoes so she could put him to bed when he just slumped over. My mother suggested--not too wisely--that she and the caregiver lift him into bed. Since neither of these women weighs much more than 100 pounds that idea didn't work. The caregiver just eased him down onto the floor and put a pillow under his head, while she screamed at my mother to "please call 911." My mom hates to do that because she thinks you only die if you go to the hospital.
Anyway, we got through this one and this morning Dad asked me "how long he'd been away."
Long enough to frighten the heck out of me, and that was too long. But he's back with us today. And that's the best we can hope for.
Those are scary moments, and can happen anytime with an elderly parent or a child. The momentary malfunctions (lately I've taken to calling them 'health storms') pass most of the time when you're young, but we all know one time, the storm will be strong, and you can only hope your loved one's will to live prevails - or his or her body just refuses to surrender. Your father is in a very good time in his life right now, specifically because you (and briefly, your sister) are there to raise the light in his world. He stayed in this life because he knew there was a reason to stay. You both bring happiness in his closing months or years, so no matter the occasional difficulties, you can both know he (and your mother) are not counted among the Abandoned Ones. Noted by Margie Boule in a June 30th column ("Lonely Death Plants Seed to Help Others in Need", The Oregonian, 'How We Live' section, Page C1), a volunteer-based organization, "No One Dies Alone", directly addresses those who are unlucky enough not to have loving daughters at their side. In the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode when Buffy's mom dies, Joss Whedon wrote the line, "Some minutes are better than others." When my Mom died, I remembered that line, and it rang true. Treasure these days one minute at a time, and the victories big and small. Health storms overcome, shared times on sunny days, and your father's delight at seeing everyone. // Thanks as always for sharing, Robin.
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