Dad is All Heart

Despite receiving excellent care, today’s numbers are not so good. My Dad’s pressure is still teetering in the 90’s and 100’s and he’s on a hefty dose of Levophed which in the healthcare biz we like to call “Leave ‘em dead.” Sure, it’s great for keep your blood pressure perfusing your brain, but it cuts off circulation to everything else, specifically your kidneys, so if you do wake up, you get the gift of a lifetime of dialysis. Yay you. My Dad is still ventilated and heavily sedated. He knows we are here. Every now and then he will nod his head to a question or blink his eyes.

Christine and Amanda are concerned about his pain. I try to explain they have him on continuous Dilaudid and it’s not enough. They  fail to believe his pain is managed because my Dad is addicted to narcotics. Ever since he broke his back in 1979, he has taken Percodan every day. Percodan, every day, for 35 years. On top of this, he potentiates with alcohol and has smoked 2 packs a day for the same time period. I think it’s safe to say that he does not have a single, healthy coping mechanism. He is afraid and that fear has driven him all his life to make poor choices.

“No one is going to tell ME what I can do with MY life.”

I’ve heard it many times. “No, Dad, no one is going to tell you what to do or how to live your life. They will simply live their lives without you in them.”

Hopefully, this experience will open his eyes to the importance of friends and family. I worry that my presence at his bedside is potentially wasted time. However, I can see in my half-sister’s eyes that she is glad I am here to translate all the tubes, wires, lab values, and machine alarms into a language she can understand. She is frightened and scared to lose her father. It’s okay with her that he controls her life. It’s okay with her that she will not do anything outside of raising a family because this way, she is serving our Dad by providing grandchildren. She is so committed to this endeavor that she will put up with the very minor and subtle abuse of her husband. It is here, that I recognize she has chosen a life partner who is controlling and patriarchial and one who keeps her in check by putting her down.

At 20 years of age, this would infuriate me. I am so against the oppression of women anywhere, especially my own family, after growing up with a grandfather and a father who tried to make me feel inferior and worthless for most of my young life. I have negated this by raising strong-willed, confident girls and have taught them that they can do ANYTHING they set their minds too. Even pee standing up. At 46, I realize that my sister’s choices are her own, that her relationship with her husband is probably comfortable because it mimicks the relationship with my Dad. She perceives herself safe and happy. Who am I to change that perception? It might work better for her than it ever would for me, and conveniently, it keeps her at an arm’s distance, leaving me to raise my own family in dramatically different ways.

The really not-so-good news is that my Dad’s white cell count went up. Yeah, on 3 of the highest-powered antibiotics in the industry, he is not fighting this infection. If he doesn’t liquefy in 24 hours, I will be surprised. His kidneys are shut down, he’s missing a third of his GI Tract, he has necrotizing pneumonia which means his lungs are dead, he’s full of fluid, totally obtunded and is defecating into a bag. It’s hard to think he will come out of this. In 14 years of nursing, I’ve never seen a good outcome. The nurse taking care of him today has 35 years of experience and his outlook is the same.

And the irony in all of this is his heart is stronger than that of most 20 year-olds. His valves are good. His cardiac output is excellent and it continues to beat perfectly. Of all his organs, his heart will survive. Ironic when you consider how many he’s broken.

The “up” side of today is I found an L.A. Fitness and worked out. It totally lifted me up. After a few days off, I went in and killed it. Starting with a warm-up on the treadmill of 20 minutes at 15% incline with ankle weights at walking speed. The gym was full of South Florida body-builder types. Guys that do waaaaay too much bench press and have these skinny little ankles. So what if you’re arms are huge? I’ll kick out your legs and you will topple to the ground. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. Ha ha. They were all puffing out their chests and walking around all tough….As they say, when in Rome….I walked up to the pull-up bar (with my ankle weights) and ripped off ten pull-ups. It was awesome. First, I was pretty excited to rip off ten, but the look on the guy’s face who went next was priceless. From there, I did 3X of Deadlift, 3X Knee Extensions, 3X of Hamstring curls, 2X of glute-strengtheners, all with 4 sets of 25 push-ups and 3 more sets of pull-ups at 8, 7 & 5. Then, when they were done with the lamest kickboxing class I’d ever seen, I went into the Aerobics room (where the boxing bags are). I did 100 wall kicks (RH) each leg, 25 side kicks. 25 front kicks, 25 back kicks, 10 tornado kicks and 25 roundhouse kicks, each leg. Finally, I did my 9 minute abdominal routine followed by 15 minutes of stretching. Yeah, it was a lot, but it felt good. Feeling strong. Still feeling on track for fitness. Obviously a little behind on curriculum but I stopped in to a Tae Kwan Do studio tonight and they invited me to come train Jiu-Jitsu at 645 tomorrow and Friday. Still have to nail that triangle leg choke.