My Daddy, the "Protector of the Universe...Emperor of all That is Good and Just...Geniuses Among Geniuses"...is in the hospital. And I am a mess.
Dad had colon cancer in 2006...had to have his prostate removed and part of his large intestine. My dad is like me...he does NOT "do" hospitals well...not the surgery, not the anesthesia, and not the recovery. It is always a "near death experience" every time he or I are in the hospital. It's some baaad stuff.
Dad was in the hospital that time for almost a month. He underwent chemo for a year, and was FINALLY doing so much better. He developed a hernia from the surgery. His sutures burst while he was in the hospital that time, and when the idiot doctors performed emergency surgery, they apparently just "stuffed and wadded" his intestines back into him.
Well, this massive hernia developed at the incision site, and when he went in yesterday morning for what should have been a "simple" 2 hour procedure, it turned into an 8 hour surgery, where they had to remove yet another part of his large intestine, because it was so infected from being all knotted-up inside of him.
He was finally moved into his own room, but still could not shake off the effects of the anesthesia. In the middle of the night, he stopped breathing. His respiration and heart signs completely ceased for 5 minutes, his "chart" said. He was coding, and the "Crash Team" finally managed to resuscitate him, and then intebated him and ran a Central Line. He was moved to the ICU immediately after.
This morning he was taken off of the respirator...yet things are still so scary.
My dad never lets anyone see him while he is in the hospital...except Mom. He is just so afraid for us to see him "weak"...since he has always been the "King of Everything" in our family....
(I was up there yesterday, and went back today to bring my mom food, and to make sure that she ate. She tends to waste away to virtually nothing when he is in the hospital, and she is already a bag of bones as it is.)
...Well, she went and asked him if he wanted me to come in for a few minutes, and he said that would be okay. To say the least, I was SHOCKED.
He was asleep when we peeked-in, and I did not want her to wake him...but, she said, "No, he wants to see you." (Yet ANOTHER shock.)
He could not really talk (the effects from the tube which had been down his throat...now is out.) But, I just told him that he looked good, had plenty of "color", and that I was taking good care of their animals. (They have the litter-mates to my Lhasas, 2 other large-old "farm dogs", and 8 cats--like me!)...I told him the dogs and us all miss him, and that since I did not want to tire him-out, I was going to go ahead and take-off...AND THEN I TOLD HIM THAT "I LOVED HIM".
Well, we do not really say that in our family. I mean, since he had his cancer surgery and treatment in 2006, I have been awkwardly telling him that sometimes, as a "goodbye", right before I skeedaddle out the door! I never really stick around for any kind of a response, 'cause it is just so awkward...and because I know that it is not forthcoming...I do not want to "put him on the spot".
He looked like he was about ready to cry this time, and when I stepped outside the curtain of his ICU room, I motioned Mom around the side, and whispered, "Was he about to cry???", and she said, "My God, I think so!"
And that was that. Too stressful, to be sure.
Mom said that not only did he stop breathing last night, the nurse told her today that he almost died...his respiration and heart signs stopped for 5 minutes! OhmiGod. (I know that the brain can go for 3 minutes without Oxygen before brain-damage starts to occur...one MORE thing to worry about!)
They had to do all kinds of stuff to bring him back. OhmiGod...and to think that I slept right through it! And all the while he was critical...a team of doctors working to keep him alive. AWFUL.
Like I said: Dad and I are sooo alike when it comes to the hospital-thing!
Every time I am in the hospital it is CRITICAL, and I am always in the ICU at death's-door...and that has happened a few times in the last few years. I was in there in October with severe Pancreatitis--WAAAYYYYY BAD!
Also, I was back there in December. That time I never told anyone outside of my family and my work. I had what may have been a mild heart attack--no one really knew for sure. I had to be ambulanced-in, stayed for several days, and it was SOOO not a good thing.
I did not tell anyone, because it was just TOO MUCH, 'ya know? Too much to "go into" at the time. I was too tired of EVERYTHING...I just wanted to "go on" and NOT have to keep talking about it. It scared the hell out of me, and I am scared it will happen again.
Okay, sooo...I know that when I am in the ICU, I am just a bundle of emotions and anxiety...I am afraid, I am weak, tired of being dependent on everyone else to do EVERYTHING for me, from feeding me to wiping my ass!
The bells and whistles are always going-off on my monitors, there are tubes sticking out of every part of my body...I am miserable, desperately missing my animals, not knowing who will take care of them all if something DOES happen to me...afraid I am going to die, and too weak to do anything but pray, and "will" myself to live...I am one shaky breath away from crying hysterically at any given moment.
So, I know how Dad feels...and that sucks...I do not want my Daddy to have to go through that. When I am there, he and Mom visit, and he gives the "Daddy Pep-Talk", etc., etc. That is what parents are supposed to do. But, when HE is there, what is a DAUGHTER supposed to do?...When the parent is the "gruff, doesn't-show-affection"-type?
It's more than I know how to handle sometimes. And what is even more pathetic, is comparing our relationship "now" to what it "used to be" when I was a little girl...I was the EPITOME of "Daddy's Little Girl".
Dad used to carry me everywhere...I would snuggle-up next to him when he was on the couch watching TV when I was a tiny little kid, and we would fall asleep. When I was a little bigger, he would hold my hand whenever we walked anywhere...and I always wanted to hold his left hand (his "watch hand"), because I remembered that he had hurt that hand before, and I wanted to kiss it and make it feel better.
When I would bring my penmanship samples home from school in kindergarten and first grade, he would always say that I had the BEST handwriting, and made the neatest numbers on my math papers.
He is the one who taught me how to ride a bike...my bright sparkly-red Schwinn with the bright-white banana-seat...complete with flowered basket, and pink and white plastic tassels streaming-off the ends of the sissy-bars. I LOVED that bike! ;)
I got that bike for my 6th birthday, and I was SO proud of it...I could not wait to learn to ride it, so that I could ride with my older brother and sister. :) I bundled-up in many layers of clothing, so that I would be well-padded when I "bit the dust".
Well, was I shocked when I was gaily pedaling-away, and discovered that Daddy had already "let go"! I was riding my bike! All on my own! :O Okay, at that point I DID bite the dust...but I got right back up and started-off again! :)
He taught me how to snap my fingers, how to ice-skate, shoot a free-throw/lay-up/jump-shot, as well as how to dribble, and serve a mean volleyball! :)
On my 8th birthday, when I walked home from the bus-stop, he was standing in the driveway. He looked over on the ground, and said, "Hey, what's that over there?" Well, I went where he pointed, and there was a small, square velvet box...and inside it was a 4-leafed clover-shaped ring with 5 little diamonds in it...1 in the middle, and 1 on each leaf! :O
I still have that ring. Over the years I had to have it re-sized several times, but I still wear it...and I always will. My Daddy gave me that ring...and out of all the rings that men have ever given me...that is the only one that counts. :)
In grade school, I used to rush home from school, and set-up the chess board in the living room. Yes...CHESS! ;) He taught me the game, and we would play chess for HOURS, watching "Wheel of Fortune", "60 Minutes" (Where I learned to love "Andy Rooney"! ;), "The Wonderful World of Disney", "Dukes of Hazzard", and every Easter-Special with "Moses" in it! ;)
In the Winter, Dad always built a fire, Mom would make hot and gooey "Pillsbury, Slice-and-Bake Chocolate Chip or Oatmeal-Raisin" cookies, and we would munch on those as we continued with our game. :)
In 7th-grade "Shop" class, I had to make a jigsaw puzzle, a key chain out of plexi-glass, and a small metal box (which I had to spot-weld.) Well, instead of using the hack-saw in class to cut the small wooden, star-shaped puzzle into pieces, I took it home, and Dad used his band-saw to perfectly cut it out for me, and then I sanded it smooth. (Okay, so I "cheated"! ...Whoopee! ;)
He did the same with my flower-shaped key chain...which I used clear nail-polish to seal a real 4-leafed clover onto. He also helped me with the box. I had the BEST projects in the class! ;)
Actually, I STILL have those items...(huh, like I still have EVERYTHING I have acquired since birth! ;) But I do have them...and I was looking at them just the other day. I never used that key chain...I did not want to have it get all scratched-up. Besides that, in 7th grade I didn't have any KEYS! ;)
In High School, he came to all of my volleyball and basketball games...constantly giving me advice on my performance, and practicing with me in the driveway at home...we played basketball all night long sometimes.
My sister, brother, and Mom all tried to teach me how to drive a "clutch" when I was 16, yet I just could not "get it". Well, the first time with Dad in the car SURE made me figure-it-out licketdy-split! Dad does not have a lot of patience, despises ignorance, and expects a lot from his kids. He knew I was smart enough to figure-out the clutch , and I had better figure it out right-quick! ;) Oh, and I DID. :)
When I played "Powder Puff" football my Junior and Senior years, he made Mom leave the game to go home and get the video camera after I made my first interception! All of those videos from my various games are priceless, and I cherish every one of them.
Dad was the first one in our family to fall in-love with a Lhasa Apso..."Bubba"--his pride and joy. When Bubba entered our lives, we officially became a "Lhasa Apso Family". ;) Then came my babies: "Sasha", "Dixie", "Truffle", and Dixie's and Bubba's puppies: "Beuford", "Skittle", "Donut", "Brownie-Boy", "Rex", and "Dolly"...our little furry family! :)
Dad was always the "bad cop", and Mom the "good cop". ..Mom was the one who always covered our ass in times of need. However, if any of us kids are ever in serious trouble, Dad is always our FIRST call...we KNOW that he will be able to "fix" whatever has gone hay-wire, or at least have the advice that we need.
Likewise, when things are really "good", and we are excited to share awesome news, Dad--again--is the one we "run to" to share in our joy, and to make him proud.
I am not really sure exactly WHEN our relationship began to dissolve; when I stopped calling him "Daddy". Maybe when I started dating, and he "lost" his little girl just a bit...or when I veered from the career path which he and I had decided upon. I was supposed to amount to so much "more". Yet, I squandered the opportunities which he afforded me; as well as wasted my education, intelligence, and abilities.
His disappointment in me grew, and so did the rift between us. Then, it became Mom whom I talked with everything about, afraid to "bother" him...or afraid to call his attention to me. I did not want the "spot-light" to shine upon me, since it did not illuminate what he wanted to see...or what I wanted to see about myself. It was easier to stay in the shadows, and run ahead of the light.
With this shift in the pattern, our relationship grew thin. He began to feel excluded...thinking that it was always Mom and I "against" him...that he was the "outsider".
Since then it has been a tenuous and tumultuous path "back"...I just cannot seem to FIND the path. I am gingerly picking my way through all of the brambles which have grown over everything...including his heart.
*SIGH*...One step at a time, I guess. I just hope we finally "make it there".
Dad had colon cancer in 2006...had to have his prostate removed and part of his large intestine. My dad is like me...he does NOT "do" hospitals well...not the surgery, not the anesthesia, and not the recovery. It is always a "near death experience" every time he or I are in the hospital. It's some baaad stuff.
Dad was in the hospital that time for almost a month. He underwent chemo for a year, and was FINALLY doing so much better. He developed a hernia from the surgery. His sutures burst while he was in the hospital that time, and when the idiot doctors performed emergency surgery, they apparently just "stuffed and wadded" his intestines back into him.
Well, this massive hernia developed at the incision site, and when he went in yesterday morning for what should have been a "simple" 2 hour procedure, it turned into an 8 hour surgery, where they had to remove yet another part of his large intestine, because it was so infected from being all knotted-up inside of him.
He was finally moved into his own room, but still could not shake off the effects of the anesthesia. In the middle of the night, he stopped breathing. His respiration and heart signs completely ceased for 5 minutes, his "chart" said. He was coding, and the "Crash Team" finally managed to resuscitate him, and then intebated him and ran a Central Line. He was moved to the ICU immediately after.
This morning he was taken off of the respirator...yet things are still so scary.
My dad never lets anyone see him while he is in the hospital...except Mom. He is just so afraid for us to see him "weak"...since he has always been the "King of Everything" in our family....
(I was up there yesterday, and went back today to bring my mom food, and to make sure that she ate. She tends to waste away to virtually nothing when he is in the hospital, and she is already a bag of bones as it is.)
...Well, she went and asked him if he wanted me to come in for a few minutes, and he said that would be okay. To say the least, I was SHOCKED.
He was asleep when we peeked-in, and I did not want her to wake him...but, she said, "No, he wants to see you." (Yet ANOTHER shock.)
He could not really talk (the effects from the tube which had been down his throat...now is out.) But, I just told him that he looked good, had plenty of "color", and that I was taking good care of their animals. (They have the litter-mates to my Lhasas, 2 other large-old "farm dogs", and 8 cats--like me!)...I told him the dogs and us all miss him, and that since I did not want to tire him-out, I was going to go ahead and take-off...AND THEN I TOLD HIM THAT "I LOVED HIM".
Well, we do not really say that in our family. I mean, since he had his cancer surgery and treatment in 2006, I have been awkwardly telling him that sometimes, as a "goodbye", right before I skeedaddle out the door! I never really stick around for any kind of a response, 'cause it is just so awkward...and because I know that it is not forthcoming...I do not want to "put him on the spot".
He looked like he was about ready to cry this time, and when I stepped outside the curtain of his ICU room, I motioned Mom around the side, and whispered, "Was he about to cry???", and she said, "My God, I think so!"
And that was that. Too stressful, to be sure.
Mom said that not only did he stop breathing last night, the nurse told her today that he almost died...his respiration and heart signs stopped for 5 minutes! OhmiGod. (I know that the brain can go for 3 minutes without Oxygen before brain-damage starts to occur...one MORE thing to worry about!)
They had to do all kinds of stuff to bring him back. OhmiGod...and to think that I slept right through it! And all the while he was critical...a team of doctors working to keep him alive. AWFUL.
Like I said: Dad and I are sooo alike when it comes to the hospital-thing!
Every time I am in the hospital it is CRITICAL, and I am always in the ICU at death's-door...and that has happened a few times in the last few years. I was in there in October with severe Pancreatitis--WAAAYYYYY BAD!
Also, I was back there in December. That time I never told anyone outside of my family and my work. I had what may have been a mild heart attack--no one really knew for sure. I had to be ambulanced-in, stayed for several days, and it was SOOO not a good thing.
I did not tell anyone, because it was just TOO MUCH, 'ya know? Too much to "go into" at the time. I was too tired of EVERYTHING...I just wanted to "go on" and NOT have to keep talking about it. It scared the hell out of me, and I am scared it will happen again.
Okay, sooo...I know that when I am in the ICU, I am just a bundle of emotions and anxiety...I am afraid, I am weak, tired of being dependent on everyone else to do EVERYTHING for me, from feeding me to wiping my ass!
The bells and whistles are always going-off on my monitors, there are tubes sticking out of every part of my body...I am miserable, desperately missing my animals, not knowing who will take care of them all if something DOES happen to me...afraid I am going to die, and too weak to do anything but pray, and "will" myself to live...I am one shaky breath away from crying hysterically at any given moment.
So, I know how Dad feels...and that sucks...I do not want my Daddy to have to go through that. When I am there, he and Mom visit, and he gives the "Daddy Pep-Talk", etc., etc. That is what parents are supposed to do. But, when HE is there, what is a DAUGHTER supposed to do?...When the parent is the "gruff, doesn't-show-affection"-type?
It's more than I know how to handle sometimes. And what is even more pathetic, is comparing our relationship "now" to what it "used to be" when I was a little girl...I was the EPITOME of "Daddy's Little Girl".
Dad used to carry me everywhere...I would snuggle-up next to him when he was on the couch watching TV when I was a tiny little kid, and we would fall asleep. When I was a little bigger, he would hold my hand whenever we walked anywhere...and I always wanted to hold his left hand (his "watch hand"), because I remembered that he had hurt that hand before, and I wanted to kiss it and make it feel better.
When I would bring my penmanship samples home from school in kindergarten and first grade, he would always say that I had the BEST handwriting, and made the neatest numbers on my math papers.
He is the one who taught me how to ride a bike...my bright sparkly-red Schwinn with the bright-white banana-seat...complete with flowered basket, and pink and white plastic tassels streaming-off the ends of the sissy-bars. I LOVED that bike! ;)
I got that bike for my 6th birthday, and I was SO proud of it...I could not wait to learn to ride it, so that I could ride with my older brother and sister. :) I bundled-up in many layers of clothing, so that I would be well-padded when I "bit the dust".
Well, was I shocked when I was gaily pedaling-away, and discovered that Daddy had already "let go"! I was riding my bike! All on my own! :O Okay, at that point I DID bite the dust...but I got right back up and started-off again! :)
He taught me how to snap my fingers, how to ice-skate, shoot a free-throw/lay-up/jump-shot, as well as how to dribble, and serve a mean volleyball! :)
On my 8th birthday, when I walked home from the bus-stop, he was standing in the driveway. He looked over on the ground, and said, "Hey, what's that over there?" Well, I went where he pointed, and there was a small, square velvet box...and inside it was a 4-leafed clover-shaped ring with 5 little diamonds in it...1 in the middle, and 1 on each leaf! :O
I still have that ring. Over the years I had to have it re-sized several times, but I still wear it...and I always will. My Daddy gave me that ring...and out of all the rings that men have ever given me...that is the only one that counts. :)
In grade school, I used to rush home from school, and set-up the chess board in the living room. Yes...CHESS! ;) He taught me the game, and we would play chess for HOURS, watching "Wheel of Fortune", "60 Minutes" (Where I learned to love "Andy Rooney"! ;), "The Wonderful World of Disney", "Dukes of Hazzard", and every Easter-Special with "Moses" in it! ;)
In the Winter, Dad always built a fire, Mom would make hot and gooey "Pillsbury, Slice-and-Bake Chocolate Chip or Oatmeal-Raisin" cookies, and we would munch on those as we continued with our game. :)
In 7th-grade "Shop" class, I had to make a jigsaw puzzle, a key chain out of plexi-glass, and a small metal box (which I had to spot-weld.) Well, instead of using the hack-saw in class to cut the small wooden, star-shaped puzzle into pieces, I took it home, and Dad used his band-saw to perfectly cut it out for me, and then I sanded it smooth. (Okay, so I "cheated"! ...Whoopee! ;)
He did the same with my flower-shaped key chain...which I used clear nail-polish to seal a real 4-leafed clover onto. He also helped me with the box. I had the BEST projects in the class! ;)
Actually, I STILL have those items...(huh, like I still have EVERYTHING I have acquired since birth! ;) But I do have them...and I was looking at them just the other day. I never used that key chain...I did not want to have it get all scratched-up. Besides that, in 7th grade I didn't have any KEYS! ;)
In High School, he came to all of my volleyball and basketball games...constantly giving me advice on my performance, and practicing with me in the driveway at home...we played basketball all night long sometimes.
My sister, brother, and Mom all tried to teach me how to drive a "clutch" when I was 16, yet I just could not "get it". Well, the first time with Dad in the car SURE made me figure-it-out licketdy-split! Dad does not have a lot of patience, despises ignorance, and expects a lot from his kids. He knew I was smart enough to figure-out the clutch , and I had better figure it out right-quick! ;) Oh, and I DID. :)
When I played "Powder Puff" football my Junior and Senior years, he made Mom leave the game to go home and get the video camera after I made my first interception! All of those videos from my various games are priceless, and I cherish every one of them.
Dad was the first one in our family to fall in-love with a Lhasa Apso..."Bubba"--his pride and joy. When Bubba entered our lives, we officially became a "Lhasa Apso Family". ;) Then came my babies: "Sasha", "Dixie", "Truffle", and Dixie's and Bubba's puppies: "Beuford", "Skittle", "Donut", "Brownie-Boy", "Rex", and "Dolly"...our little furry family! :)
Dad was always the "bad cop", and Mom the "good cop". ..Mom was the one who always covered our ass in times of need. However, if any of us kids are ever in serious trouble, Dad is always our FIRST call...we KNOW that he will be able to "fix" whatever has gone hay-wire, or at least have the advice that we need.
Likewise, when things are really "good", and we are excited to share awesome news, Dad--again--is the one we "run to" to share in our joy, and to make him proud.
I am not really sure exactly WHEN our relationship began to dissolve; when I stopped calling him "Daddy". Maybe when I started dating, and he "lost" his little girl just a bit...or when I veered from the career path which he and I had decided upon. I was supposed to amount to so much "more". Yet, I squandered the opportunities which he afforded me; as well as wasted my education, intelligence, and abilities.
His disappointment in me grew, and so did the rift between us. Then, it became Mom whom I talked with everything about, afraid to "bother" him...or afraid to call his attention to me. I did not want the "spot-light" to shine upon me, since it did not illuminate what he wanted to see...or what I wanted to see about myself. It was easier to stay in the shadows, and run ahead of the light.
With this shift in the pattern, our relationship grew thin. He began to feel excluded...thinking that it was always Mom and I "against" him...that he was the "outsider".
Since then it has been a tenuous and tumultuous path "back"...I just cannot seem to FIND the path. I am gingerly picking my way through all of the brambles which have grown over everything...including his heart.
*SIGH*...One step at a time, I guess. I just hope we finally "make it there".
3 comments:
Beautiful and heart warming - the paths we walk with and along the sides of each other.
I'm keeping you and your dad in my prayers.
I'm glad you're still blogging, it'd be great to see you over at my place someday. :D I've been commenting since you began but then I thought maybe she doesn't realize that this is Lisa from Lhasa Group. . .HI!
You and your Dad are in my prayers.
Although you are about the same age as my daughter, our relationship with our fathers followed similar paths. Take advantage of this time that you have to get rid of the brambles and find your way back to the relationship that you wish to have with your Daddy.
I will never have that opportunity, as mine left us far too soon. I weep at the last memory I have of time with my beloved Daddy. Neither of us could find the words that the other so desperately needed to hear, the gulf was just too wide.
You are a wonderful, spirited woman that any Father would be proud to claim as his own. Make every effort to bridge the gap between you so that neither of you have any regrets but beautiful memories instead.
Hugs and Prayers
Joan
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