A Terrible New Year’s Day
What started off like any other Sunday definitely wasn’t.
We didn’t stay up to countdown to the new year like we usually do. January 1st meant we were just a few weeks from our cruise vacation. Great, we could finally check in!
I followed the boring prompts on my screen, impatiently waiting to finally arrive at a “hooray you’re done!” page. It never came :( Just a lame green banner. Oh well. At least that was over with.
We went to church. Set up the slides, the live stream, the sound. Worship went smoothly. Pastor started preaching.
I stayed in my seat during the singing because I felt lightheaded. I didn’t want to push myself more than I already had. My dad and my husband asked if I was okay. I thought I was the only one who needed to be worried about.
“Jo! Jo!” I hear Ma whisper-yell on my left. I hear gasps and see Pa looking like he’d fallen asleep, leaning over.
It all happened so fast.
“Someone call 911!”
“Who’s calling 911?”
First thing I thought of?
“Go end the live stream.” Why my brain thinks of these things, I don’t know. But I definitely did not want to have the option of reliving this moment on YouTube if this would be Pa’s last.
“He’s unconscious!”
“He doesn’t have a pulse.”
“We need to put him on the floor.”
“1-2-3.”
“The spray!”
“The defibrillator!”
For a while, he laid there. He looked lifeless. I dialed 911 and handed my phone to a friend, a nurse who I trusted would have a better handle on the situation than I would.
Nurses and PSWs, both retired and finally enjoying a day off, crowded around Pa on the floor. I see my dad to the side, holding his own chest. I remember that he’s vulnerable, too. Fragile even. I ask him to sit down but his eyes are watering and I know there’s no use consoling someone when I don’t have an ounce of comfort for myself.
I’ve learned my coping mechanisms are weird. Survival mode first. Do what needs to get done first. Then, cry later.
We stood there, one hand on my husband and one on my sister. A dear friend offered to pray but I couldn’t get a word out. We just stood there silently, but I’m sure our prayers sounded like loud cries to the heavens.
Come on, Lord. This can’t be it. This isn’t fair. Right at the start of the new year? Come on, Lord.
Compressions. A single shock. Yelling. Crying.
Finally, some response. Thank God.
The sounds of his grunting. His eyes rolled back. His feet shaking. I won’t be able to ever get that image out of my head.
I always prayed and hoped I’d never have to witness the death of someone I loved, let alone my own parents. But I don’t know if being there the whole time was any better. Either way, it’s what happened. I guess it doesn’t really matter what I wished would happen. I now have a way too vivid picture in my head that I can replay over and over.
Part of me wishes I could erase it from my memory. But another part doesn't want to let go of what could have been the last time I'd see him.
-
Stable.
Joking. Responsive. Strangely calm. Oblivious.
Just a couple of hours ago, that’s how he was. He had the energy to go with his son to the bathroom to change into a fresh pair of underwear and pants.
“Sorry” and “I’m tired of all the commotion” are what my husband remembers his dad saying.
The porter came to our “room” with curtain walls to take him for a CT scan.
“Try to get an A+, Pa!” I said.
He played along with me.
"I'll try!"
-
We decided that sitting in the ER and letting our 3 cars rack up parking fees wasn't the best idea, so we decided to leave. Pa had more tests to do, they were going to monitor him, and we only live about 20 minutes away.
Let’s go home, eat, and rest. We'll come back when Ma calls us.
-
My husband and I sit in a new Vietnamese restaurant that opened up near our house, one of the few Asian spots open on New Year’s Day that takes credit card without a dumb transaction fee! Sweet.
Before that it was a lot of driving. Grabbing clothes. Searching for "the black Ugg rubber shoes I put by the door". And answering questions. So many questions. I didn't think I'd be this glued to my phone so early on in the new year.
Finally. We finally had a chance to sit down and process everything that just happened.
“You think I should work this week?” He asks me, almost rhetorically.
We both laugh. The first time we laughed since probably last night. We know it would be a terrible idea. It would be too hard. With what mental or emotional capacity would he be able to work?
[[ With what mental capacity would I be able to work? Dad in the ICU. I'd been here before. What would this week look like? I couldn't let myself think that far ahead. ]]
My husband is a man who wears his heart on his sleeve. Sometimes his sleeve is more like a billboard with bright lights. In other words, he’s very transparent. I love that about him.
So we’re at the restaurant talking. Replaying. Processing. Grateful it wasn’t as bad as it could be. As it could be. Still, it was bad. And maybe worse than we realized.
The last few months we’ve been so worried about the women in our family.
She’s in her final stages of cancer.
She uses all her strength, to the point of exhaustion, to take care of her sister.
But all this time it’s been him we needed to worry about.
Pa. The driver. The dancer. The cyclist. The singer. The greatest bingo host of all time. Our dad.
We just started to feel a bit of relief. We had just gotten a bunch off of our chests. And then we got a phone call.
I don’t know if you’ve ever watched someone receive an unexpected phone call of bad news but it is a rollercoaster.
My husband’s face changed so quickly. His eyes became watery as he held the phone to his ear. Something had happened.
“Oh,” he said.
It was his mom. She abruptly hung up without saying bye, like she always does.
“He lost his pulse. He went into cardiac arrest,” he tells me.
He calls her back. A few words, then, again, an abrupt hang up.
Processing time was over. Our much needed date was over. We needed to go home.
He asked me to drive home and I said sure. We were walking out of the restaurant and the staff were so friendly. They yelled a polite greeting and I could hear them smiling. I could only wave without looking back. Could this be it?
We’re walking to the car and I had forgotten we took Pa’s car. Pa. Another painful reminder that he wasn’t around to drive his own car. He wasn’t able. He couldn’t. He was in a hospital — a place he fears the most — waiting to be revived.
-
We got home. Our dog greeted us with so much excitement like she usually does. But I think she knew. She could feel our sadness. She became sad too.
My parents were waiting for good news. I guess we were supposed to bring good news home. We’d just seen Pa face to face. He was stable. That’s what we’d texted them. It’s what we texted everyone literally minutes before he went into cardiac arrest again.
Revived. Going to the ICU. If Ma wasn’t by his side when he flatlined he could’ve been out for so much longer.
Thank God.
-
Faith in these moments. Can I call it faith if it kinda feels dormant? What makes faith active? Doing stuff, right? Like... doing things that please God, and leaving the results up to him, right?
But what if I don’t feel like doing stuff? I want to read. I want to sing. I want to listen to music. Part of me wants to do all that while another part of me just wants to sit and stare blankly at a wall. It feels like all these 'good things to do' would take me away from Pa.
I know it’s all supposed to help. But out of all the people on my mind right now, I need help the least.
-
How is time going by so fast? His progress is so so slow, but the clock keeps moving.
Every time I start to send a text update to someone, a lot more time has passed than I even realize. I keep having to adjust the time stamp in my copied/pasted message.
Just now. Half an hour ago. An hour ago. And now almost two.
When will we get to wake up from this bad dream?
I'm still processing. And the day isn't over.
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