At 9:00am yesterday morning, I received a call from my father. He said, “I need you to take me to the ER.”
It’s a nightmare scenario that, with very few exceptions, we all must face. Some of us may go through it several times. To say that I’m experienced with personal and family crisis is a bit of an understatement. I won’t go in to my “credentials” as they are, but let’s say I’ve had way more than my fair share of driving those that I love (at terrifying speeds) to the hospital while bleeding, passed out, or otherwise.
7 years ago was the last time I’d been in a hospital. I was there to visit my grandmother who we thought was dying of Leukemia. She is in remission now, but it was dicey there for several months, and we almost lost her a couple of times. Prior to 7 years ago, the last hospital I was in was OHSU, and that was to see my mother through a difficult surgery for cancer (which subsequently killed her).
Walking in to the ER yesterday was like a punch to the gut. It was as if I was experiencing my worst nightmare all over again, and I wanted so desperately to wake up. The smells, the sights, the people… they were all reminders of all the months I’d stayed in hospitals waiting diligently for modern science to snatch my mother from the jaws of death. It was bad enough that my father was sick, but I was dealing with ten years of accumulated baggage on top of it.
They took his blood pressure and it was sky high. 215/130. High. Insanely high.
At this point, they’re talking about strokes, heart attacks, kidney damage, impaired function, and a slew of other medical issues. I’m not even 30 yet, and here I was, faced with the prospect of losing yet another parent.
They admitted him in to the hospital, and walking the corridors and past the beige tinted walls and hinted smells of death, I wanted to cry.
Everything worked out okay in the end. It was more of a wake up call than I really wanted, though. I’m sitting at home now, the first time I’ve had a chance to really be still for a moment. It’s hard to not wonder, even if my father does do everything the medical profession tells him, how much longer will I have with him?
It’s a sobering question. One I wasn’t prepared to ask; but just the same, one I should have been.