Two Saturday's ago Dad had a stroke, which also caused a seizure. We were on the way back to the house after dialysis. I was driving. I thought I was prepared for all emergencies and have in the past handled them with a modicum of calm. Not so on Saturday. I thought I was only a block from the fire station and drove like a fiend trying to get to it. Dad was flopped over to my side, unconscious after what felt like an endless minute of convulsing. I thought he'd had a stroke and I only had precious seconds to get help that could save his life. The station was further down than I thought so I made a U-Turn and headed back down Canyon road toward 112th, intending on driving all the way to Good Sam's emergency room -- however God must of tapped me on the shoulder to remind me to tap into the common sense I was born with. I pulled over to the side of the road and dialed 911 -- which isn't as easy as you'd think with a touchtone phone - fingers don't always touch on the right numbers especially when you're crying like a new born baby because of fear dad's lying dead next to me. When I got someone on the line I screamed the events of the last few minutes. The voice on the phone was calm, I was not -- until she demanded I get myself together and check to see if Dad was breathing. "If he's not breathing, she explained, "I need to tell you what to do next." That sunk in. If I didn't get it together, I couldn't save Dad. He was breathing. Thank God. The ambulance came within 2-3 long minutes. He was taken to Good Sam and held in critical care until two days ago, and then he was moved to the patient care unit. I guess they wanted to make sure he was seizure free. He's had an MRI without contrast and CT Scans with and without contrast and they can now confirm a stroke and the seizure that resulted from said stroke.
Dad's mental capacity has diminished even more so, and at first they said it could be toxicity from meds or outside source or it could be mental deterioration from whatever. To my layman mind, all that meant was they didn't know or care enough about what's going on with our 79-year-old Dad with multiple serious illnesses. But the tests now reveal that he has intracranial carotid artery disease, which means the carotid artaries are blocked and narrowed -- inpeding blood flow to the brain. Oh and last Friday we found out -- after questioning a nurse on why they're attire changed to full gear covering them from head to toe when entering Dad's room -- that Dad has the MRSA bacteria in his nose, which he probably got from being on the critical unit. Did I mention we just found out June 3rd, but they received the results back on May 31st? Really? Kind of stuff we'd like to know about.
We've had a helluva time getting any kind of useful information from the medical professionals around us. Is this typical? Why is it they don’t give the same level of care to a 79-year-old man as they would to someone younger and perhaps…curable? Do doctors wear belts under those white lab coats with carved notches that represent their successes? Seems so.
I'm tired, I'm scared, I weepy and sick to my stomach every day. I want to run away and at the same time crawl in bed and pull the overs over my head and stay like that for...like...infinity. I don't want him to be in agony, and I don't want him to leave us. Dear God I don't even know what to pray for anymore.
Help me. Help Dad. Help all of us. Amen.
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