Engagement, wedding, honeymoon, failed trip to Florida, dad's emergency surgery and my Granny passing away. And of course all the petty stuff to really add the cherry on top.
We began the year with our engagement and I really had only planned on the year being solely about our wedding and new marriage---my were we in for an emotional treat! I'm the first to admit that I'm not the best at unplanned situations. For as creative as my brain is, I run 95% on organization and a set agenda.
Where am I going with this? I think I'm trying to explain how unstructured my year has felt. Yep, that's it.
In our world of medicine, it really is complicated to wrap my head around. When the surgeon explained my dad's aortic tear post-surgery in a drawing on his white board all I could really think was that it looked like a piece of abstract art. I couldn't repeat the terms enough times in my head to remember what all he was saying (to Google later, of course.) I only remembered "False Lumen" by relating it to lemon...which, by the way, have nothing to do with one another.
My go-to method for coping is documentation. Sounds weird, but it's my thing. I guess I have a fear of forgetting. My dad taught me to document. I assume this is where my love for photography came from. Not just the good times, all of them. I knew my dad would want to know about what had happened while he was paralyzed and sedated so what other choice did I have but to, say it with me: DOC-U-MENT. Boy was I right. He told McClain (a family friend) that he wished someone had videoed his surgery so he could see what they did. Well, I didn't video a lot, but I did take pictures. Don't start thinking I'm creepy...or do, it really is no matter.
Really the images are a great reminder of the amount of progress made in the last 3.5 weeks. People, I'm talking serious progress---like baby's first steps kind of thing.
I remember the moment at Target when it actually hit me that "this is the moment, my dad is dying". I told Jon I didn't have anything to say. You see in movies or hear stories about people who regret not saying things or wish someone knew how much they loved them. All I could think was he isn't doubting how much I love him and I didn't need to hear it either. He stayed alert during it all---rare. While I was on the phone with 9-1-1 he kept repeating "CASHIER 17, CASHIER 17" to tell EMSA where to find us. During my panicked phone call to Jon my dad was telling me, "I'm okay, Ape." (While lying on the Target floor) Far from the truth, but it was good to hear.
The next 48 hours were critical and we were mainly in hopeful devastation, if that makes any sense? The doctors and surgeons were very clear about the severity and mortality rate of this. For a moment I thought about asking the doctor if I could offer some illegal bribe to ensure he really focus and get the job done. Every person's situation is personal to him or her; with them seeing emergencies all the time I was afraid they would generalize my dad's life with others they had seen. We learned about the drastic measures taken during his surgery. They did what they call "The Big Chill", where they drained all of his blood and decreased his body temperature to 18 degrees. They have 45 minutes to work under these conditions and then have to get the body going again. I'm assuming unless you're a doctor in the room during this, it's really hard to comprehend. Obviously I understand the concept, but it still gives an eery essence. Needless to say, Dr. Garrett restored my faith in his line of work.
3 weeks later and dad is at home. He's not 100%---I'd say probably 65% for now. Give or take. He's still very fragile and the easiest tasks are exhausting---eating, walking, using the restroom, showering, etc. He's bored. Even with the exhaustion he wants to get out and do something, ANYTHING. Therapists are becoming his BFFs, when they can keep up.
Most of you know I have a very small family and I know we are forever grateful for the kindness and thoughtfulness from our friends who we consider to be part of our extended family. It's hard to lean on others when I really only lean on three people: My mom, dad & Jon. I am appreciative of my best friend Megan, her husband and sister who brought us dinner while my dad was still undergoing surgery. I know these situations are handled with care, nobody really knows what to say or do and nobody wants to seem overbearing or in your face--when really, it's not such a bad thing to be asked questions and talk about what's going on. I am grateful for Anna, one of my mom's best friends, for sitting with us while my dad was in surgery and adding a pleasant demeanor to complete turmoil. Father Bright was the perfect distraction that we needed. He had a way of telling humorous stories that got us off track for a second and of course had comforting words at the most needed times. Carole popping in to see us, Hayley stopping by the hospital to have a coffee with me, Susan & Kent bringing "Heart Healthy" snacks, Ray visiting and having a long chat with dad, the parishioners at All Souls' Episcopal Church and all of the compassion shown was a relief from the situation. The phone calls, cards, visits, flowers, meals, gifts and all that everyone has done will not be forgotten.
We've been on a bit of a rocky road and are starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I know a lot of you are curious about his progress and I plan to keep you updated. In the meantime the lyrics "started from the bottom, now we here" come to mind when I look at these pictures...
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