Sitting with Dad

I have been sitting with my father for 4 months now. I watch the hands move on the clock, I watch numbers change on the calendar letting me know another day has passed. I change the pages on the calendar. It is all very surreal. Like a Dali painting. I know 4 months is a lot. Especially for my family who has not had me there for them like they are used to having me there. But I don't feel the passage of time. I don't feel 4 months. I don't feel anything except sadness. Deep deep aching sadness. Consuming sadness. I can't breathe sadness.

I missed Christmas, New Years, Valentines Day, my daughter's birthday, my wedding anniversary, long weekends, first concert, baseball practices, soccer games, and a day I was supposed to help out in the classroom that my son was looking forward to. Those hurt. I'll never get those back. But I will also never get this time with Dad back either. The choices are hard.

I travel back through time. I remember all the visits he made to me once I moved away. I remember each move I made and that he was always a part of them all. All 14 of them! I remember when he sat with me through a broken leg, respiratory illnesses, and then later Lymes disease. He held my hand and told me to fight. Now I hold his hand and tell him to fight if he wants to or rest if he wants to.

I have done all the things people tell me I need to do. I have given him permission both to fight and not to fight. I have told him I will be alright. I have told him it will be ok. I have told him I will take care of the things he worries about. My biggest fear is that I will have to make "The Decision". You know the one I am talking about. We have had several (3 to be specific) "setbacks". He comes back but never to the level he was before the setback. Each setback is a little more serious. This last one I thought I would have to make "The Decision", but I didn't. I know its coming.

Gotta find the humor

It has been 3 weeks and 2 days that I have been with my father willing him to fight and get better. There are definite stages that you go through in this process and I might write about them at some point but right now I am finally able to see some of the humor so I want to share that with you.

I am sitting in Dad's ICU room. It is a single because it is the smallest room in the ICU and they cannot fit another bed into it. Because he does not have a roommate I can come and go as I please. The first week I obeyed all rules. The second week I tip-toed around a few. Today I have ventured into the "I have been here so long the rules don't apply to me" zone. I have broken my first rule.

You are not allowed to bring food into the ICU. I might be ok with this if there were alternatives but I have decided the hospital cafeteria exists for two reasons. First, to create a fund for medical research. I mean really. Why else would a bottle of water cost $2.50? I can buy a case for the cost of 2 bottles and get change back! The second reason to ensure a steady stream of patients in the immediate (food spoilage creating gastro-intestinal admissions) and long-term (cardio patients due to the high levelof salt and fat).

I am tired of spending money on lousy food so today I packed a lunch and snuck it in. I now sit in my Dad's room, curtain drawn, eating my sandwich. I look up at him laying in bed, I hear the machines, and I suddenly giggle because I realize that I am the poster child for a Greys Anatomy or House episode. How many times have we watched episodes where the interns or House were hiding in a comatose patient's room eating lunch? Whenever I saw these episodes I laughed and thought how silly it was, no one would ever do that. I am eating those words with my turkey sandwich and ruffles potato chips.