Living in the Now with Dad

The first pains to his shoulder were thought to be due to bursitis from an old college injury when he broke his collar bone. A quick shot of cortisone and everything would be fine. Or so his doctor said.

The next week the same intense shoulder pain returned. Off to the doctor and the same diagnosis accompanied by a script for a MRI of the shoulder and possible physical therapy. Or so his doctor said.

The third time the pain was even more intense, but now it was a Sunday evening and he just wanted another shot of cortisone for the pain. As we are walking out to the car, his breaths are becoming strained and short. One red flag goes off in my brain. He has to sit in the kitchen to get his strength to keep walking. Second red flag is raised. We get to the front porch bench and he sits again, stating that the pain is so bad, it is making him break out in a cold sweat. He says he is nauseous. Red flags three and four pop up like jack-in-the-boxes. My brain is filled with a tidal wave of red flags threatening to come crashing down onto Dad. This is not good. This could be really bad. Stay calm I tell myself. Don’t panic. Don’t alarm anyone. And most importantly, just get him to the hospital. I mean, after all it’s just bursitis or arthritis or an old injury paying a call. Or so his doctor said.

That was the beginning of Dad’s heart attacks. Looking back with the hindsight that we can only gain from reviewing the past, I am convinced that the initial shoulder pain episodes were mild heart attacks. I don’t know if I can ever reconcile the anger I have for the quack doc who only saw an aging man with aches and pains creeping in to his life. He never stopped to consider that there may be more serious issues at play. I have to work on this reconciliation.

Two cardiac stents later Dad is back home. I have written up placards detailing the signs of cardiac distress. Hanging them in the various rooms of the house, I attach bags of nitro tabs to the signs. The signs are talismans, preventing any further trouble. I am foolish enough to believe that my efforts will stem the tide of future attacks.

Dad is home for maybe a week when my talisman fails. This time, I know it is a heart attack. Popping a Nitro tab into Dad’s mouth, I call 911. I would like to say that I calmly reported his symptoms, but that would be a lie. My stomach was churning with each question the disembodied voice on the other end asked. I just wanted to scream, “Enough with the questions! He his having a freaking heart attack! Just get the hell over here!”

As Mom and I are riding to the hospital she says, “One of these times, we won’t be bringing him back home with us.” What could I say? Thankful for the darkness hiding my tears, thankful for the sound of the tires riding across the pavement, creating a humming blanket to cover the silence that filled the car, I finally reply, “I know Mom”. I prayed for the strength to get through all of this. I prayed that this time, Dad would come home with us.

Dad did come home, after a third stent was placed in his chest.

As for now…well,…I don’t know. At first I felt like I was mentally crossing off the days till the “big one” lays him out. I hated feeling that way. As if I was one of the Grim Reaper’s minions, hovering and waiting for death to come.

One day I realized that this waiting was toxic for me. Praying for a peaceful existence, while living with the reality of all that had happened in the past five weeks, I found what I was seeking. I need to live in the moment, in the now. For if I don’t do that, I will miss the gift of Dad’s life. A gift I can’t get back once he is gone. That is where my heart lives.

This is not easy for me. I am still on hyper alert for any possible warning signs. But I hold on to my conviction to live for the present. I can not control the future. I can only follow my heart. I can only live in present. And be thankful for Dad’s presence today, for I don’t know what tomorrow will bring.

Peace,

Jane Ellen