I Suppose It Could Get Crazier

The day started with Dad calling out at 5:30 a.m. And where did we find him? Lying on his back. And where was he lying on his back? On the floor in the kitchen. Not really in the kitchen but on the threshold between the kitchen and the front room. Do you realize the significance of that? Dad had opened the door and had fallen right there at that boundary point, straddling the line that separated his part of the house and ours, the point the door closes off. How long he had been there, I don't know, but he was cold and shivering. The furniture in his arms' reach had been jostled, even the little rug under the piano bench was folded up, as he had tried to grab onto anything her could to pull himself up. His bathrobe lay in a heap on the floor and he was in his long red-and-white-striped nightshirt.

I had bolted out of bed and immediately run out to him. He looked up and said, "You look like one of my daughters." I thought I looked more like Clarabelle the Clown. My hair was standing straight out to the sides. Dad had on regular socks, not the kind they give patients at the hospital that have the little rubber paw prints on the bottoms, but regular socks that cause you to slip and slide all over hardwood floors. And fall. You put on some sweats and asked Dad if he felt like he was hurt or had any broken bones. Then you lifted him up (by yourself---what were you thinking??) and I helped you get him into the wheelchair. On the way to the bedroom Dad asked to stop at the bathroom. While in there he asked if we were anywhere near where we lived. I said yes.

When we put Dad in bed, we turned on the electric blanket. It was cranked all the way up! Yikes! That would be hot even for me! On top of the blanket Dad had the bedspread, a lap blanket and a large bath towel. He was coughing slightly. I turned the EB down to 3 and, after talking to himself for a while, I could hear him move into the heavy, throaty breathing of sleep. My day had just begun.

I had been up til 11:40 trying to confirm the substitute for my class this morning so I could go to the oncologist with you. The 5:30 'wake-up' wasn't quite what I had planned. Carmi showed up at 7:30 and you asked her to start 24-hour shifts. It was at that moment that I realized Dad was headed back to the hospital. It all fell quickly into place: accelerating disorientation, crazy talk, aimless walking, a cough. He has something, probably another infection. Carmi said she'd call the doctor and see if she could get an appointment. They had just gone in on Tuesday and the doctor found nothing wrong with Dad.

We ran off to the oncologist's. What an education that was! The doctor was kind and thorough. He gave detailed explanations on the type of tumor you have, what stage 1, 2, and 3 clinical trials are, how they can differ in the slightest of ways, and why it's okay for you to participate in a stage 1 trial. He said you got a good, general, safe chemo regimen at Kaiser but how chemo can --and should---be tailored to a patient based on the patient's responses to prior chemo treatments. He talked about how you should tell him about every prescription and supplement you take. He said the Big Mucky Muck we saw at UCLA is an example of someone who is out there doing extreme experimentation, that they all know each other, and go to the same meetings. He's a little less edgy but experimental. We were comfortable with him. He will work with the oncological surgeon. They will look at the new CT scan and decide which will come first, the surgery or another round of chemo. You will definitely have chemo. The surgery is something we hope for and they will do whatever they can to make it happen, but more chemo is a certainty. And he will monitor it to help you keep up your quality of life.

I went to work but it was early so on the way I went to the bank and Coffee Bean. I got a fattening drink, a yogurt parfait to eat at lunchtime, and money so I could pay Florinda the Magnificent. Then I sat in the parking lot at school and made phone calls. I had to update Beth on Dad. I also wanted to get info on In Home Supportive Services from Beth for a member of 'The Good Wives Club'. What I didn't realize was that by sitting in the car, I ran down the battery because the lights stay on until you set the alarm. Or something like that. Well, the short story is that I ran down the battery.

I reached my classroom just as two of my little boys were being sent to the office for fighting. D had punched S who then scratched D who then retaliated by biting S. God it was good to get back to the insanity of work! How I absolutely love just about anything those little guys do! (But of course I can't show them.) Welcome back to the Land of Cute. My friend was 'punting' as I walked in. She's a good sport. She was going over the homework they had done last night 'Draw a picture of what you want to be when you grow up and have your grown-up write the description you give'. Most of them wanted to be teachers. I hope that speaks well of their experiences with teachers so far in their little lives.

At 2:30 you picked me up so we could go to the cardiologist. You had selected the cardiologist Dad sees; you've certainly been in his office enough with Dad. The doctor greeted us himself and ushered us into my favorite exam room: The Fishing Room. I don't know if my favorite part of that room is the book called "Two Dicks Go Fishing" or the lower-half of duck models affixed to the ceiling. Then there are lots of fish paintings and mounted fish. I keep hoping one of them will start singing. I love those goofy things.

The doctor listened to your heart and was concerned about your leaky valve. "I can hear your leaky valve all the way up in your neck," he said. "And I can hear your aorta, which is located back near your spine, all the way up in the front of your chest." Oh, no, my brain is groaning, how can your heart be so out-of-whack? He ordered an EKG, which was done on the spot, and you will go back on Monday afternoon for a cardiac ultrasound and a stress test. When he asked you about your physical shape, you did your macho athlete posturing about how we used to ride bikes for an hour and a half at a good clip last summer but now only ride for about a half hour. Actually, I think you fibbed a little there, but I wasn't going to challenge you in front of the good doctor. He was impressive, thorough and clear. You must past his three tests: EKG, ultrasound and stress, before he gives you the go-ahead for surgery. He said lots of people can do it with leaky mitral valves. Ten to twelve hours on the table with a team of oncological surgeons is tantamount to 24 to 36 hours of surgical man-hours. It will be tough but he says you look and sound pretty healthy. He needs to be sure.

I went right over to the ER because that's where Dad and Carmi were. I was stunned to find out that Dad has bilateral pneumonia and his congestive heart failure has gotten out of control for the first time in several years. The signs of illness were there in the form of his disorientation and early risings, but the typical physical symptoms were lagging behind. They admitted him to the hospital.

When you dropped me off to pick up the car at work, jumper cables in hand, but the car started right up without them. The clock said it was noon but the car ran and got me to our sushi place. We ordered some of our favorite rolls but I just wasn't in a good eating mood. I took part of one home for lunch tomorrow. Tomorrow is Friday, I can't wait for this week to be over. I am tired and, more than that, I am fatigued in a way that makes me feel melancholy. I have not been a melancholy person in my adult years and don't like the trips to the past where I get weepy or feel cracks in my self-control. I suppose it could get crazier. I would like to get a solid eight hours of sleep.