Florida ICU

My flight arrived at 530am. I got a little sleep on the plane but not much. Travelling is such a dealfest. On very little sleep, I had to pick up the rental car which is always a pain while they try to bend you over for every possible extra dollar they can squeeze out of you.

“Would you like insurance?”

“Can we fill it up for you on your return (to the tune of $8/gallon)?

“Please sign and initial these fourteen paragraphs saying that you refuse extra insurance, roadside assistance and any other meaningless services we pretend to offer. Thank you for using Thrifty!”

Just give me the damn keys. Once I’ve figured out how the seat works and which radio stations I can tolerate, I am thrust upon Tuesday morning, Miami rush hour traffic. Yay me. Not to mention that Florida is all Turnpike to get anywhere which means if you didn’t get change at the airport kiosk, you are basically screwed at the toll booth. Luckily, the story of a dying father and a California driver’s license gets you a pass on the first one and directions to the nearest grocery store where you can load up on quarters because the Turnpike doesn’t take credit cards or cash and expects EXACT change only. Kill me now.

I arrived at the hospital around 7am to find my Dad intubated, on every drip possible, and violated by a tube for every orifice to evacuate his body. His blood pressure was unstable. His heart rate was fast. He was swollen from head to toe. They took out his entire colon and ended his small intestine with a colostomy bag. He is NOT going to like THAT later. He is in respiratory failure, on a ventilator. He is in kidney failure on continuous renal replacement therapy (CRRT) which is like “dialysis light.” His stomach contents are consistently being sucked out by an NG tube. He has an arterial line and multiple venous access lines and he is snowed beyond belief. I walk in, but he cannot hear me. I drill his ICU nurse, Charles, who just so happens to know what the heck he is doing so I back off. They are titrating his fluids and his pressors to keep his blood pressure in range. His White cell count is 66,000. That’s 6-7 times what it should be and indicates a raging infection, and to add insult to injury, he is MRSA positive.

He’s older. His hair is thin and his beard is all white. He looks ancient. He no longer appears to be the menacing tyrant that threw his wife down the stairs, or the psychopath who threatened to sue me and disown me if I did not obey his wishes. So many reasons to hate him and yet, there he lays in a Florida ICU full of the worst possible conditions I could ever wish upon him. It’s hard to hate him and instead, I find compassion. How awful his life has been. He has chosen so poorly for the last 45 years, and he has no one to blame but himself. It’s so sad.

So I choose to take the high road. I choose to be a daughter, but not at my own expense. For the next however many days, I will cling to my principles and my personal choices. I am grounded by Marek and the girls and a supportive community. This is the day I have dreaded most of my life, but I knew it would come and surprisingly, I’m more prepared for it than I thought I would be.

My training regimen is fragmented. I am jet-lagged, tired and dehydrated. My body is not in any condition to train. For now, I need sleep and to monitor my “tank” and keep it full. I stretched today and looked over Life Skills. Ran through the logo memorization a couple of times, and looked over Pages 1 & 2 of the black belt test.