Tag Archives: ICU

Ill of the Dead

Standard

The first thing I told the ER nurse,
was that you were too much of an asshole to let
something like a stroke take you down.
Except, they don’t really tell daughters
in the middle of the night,
how bad the hemorrhaging is.

I am not sure how to speak ill of the dead.
I only wish that besides the air they pumped in through
your trach, and the fluids they pumped through the iv,
the meds that flowed through your central line,
they could have also dripped in forgiveness.

I would stand on your left side,
to be out of the way of nurses
but you couldn’t feel me there.
So I would brush the sweat off your forehead,
and will the fever away.

If only intention was all it took-
because there was enough stubborn between the
both of us to fill that 8×10 hospital room.

But, cantankerous does not fix the entire paralysis of
one’s left side, does not stop the shutting down of kidneys
or cease the bacteria from becoming pneumonia.

But it will wake you from a sleep that has lasted twenty-six days.

Shook your hospital bed,
pounded it on it with my insignificant fists,
and goaded you into one more fight.
Yelled at you with the only voice I had left.

It took you only twelve hours to answer back.
Looked me sideways in the eye,
and showed me you were done.
Asked for every tube, line and iv,
to go away.

And when I leaned on my little brother,
What do we do now?
I’ve been fighting with him my whole life,
I’m not going to today. 

ICU moves slow – has its own timezone,
except when there is no more time left,
and then you’re looking for just one more second.

When they shut down the machines
I thought it would be quick –
But Pops, you were waiting for something,
and it wasn’t old hyms for me to sing,
or Willburys’ tunes
or even one last brush of the forehead.

Sixteen hours through the night,
till they said, you didn’t have to be in that little room anymore
because this was a room to make you well –
So we wheeled you off to the light of hospice –
A room with great windows,
Pine trees almost like home-
and there was sun.

I kept singing, held your left side,
useless as it was. Amazing Grace,
how sweet the sound –
your mother taught me that one –
then Sang the other
one the one you walked me down the aisle to.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night.
take these broken wings and learn to fly
all your life.   You were only waiting –

It is hard to speak ill of the dead,
but with your last breath,
and single tear,
And how I stood so damn brave,
didn’t crumple,
till you were long past gone
Old man, you must know-
I am long past forgiveness now.

Advertisements

The story I never wrote down.

Standard

On March 20th of last year, I wrote this –

So – this weekend, Pops has been adjusting to the trach and slowly coming off the sedation. The respiratory therapists have been lowering the assistance he gets with the ventilator. . . . He’s still pretty out of it, but you would be too if you had been on drugs for the last three weeks – He got a new bed today so he will be able to sit up more. The rehab placement that he will use to be able to relearn how to use his left side or compensate without it, may still be a couple of weeks out — but we are getting there . . . He is still kicking around some sort of infection, but all-in-all, things are better than they were a week ago. I’m hoping to get to sit with him and watch UConn beat Duke on the way to the FinalFour- and maybe even hear him swear about the weirdness that is the officiating once Duke is on the floor.
Lynn, Corey, and I want to continue to thank everyone for their love and prayers – for your visits in the waiting room, for your meals at the house, for your cards and notes and messages.  This is the hardest thing we’ve ever gone through, and we are so grateful to have all your support.
much love and hope,
tara

But I wrote that with trepidation…

I had waited for my dad to come out of it the days after his trach surgery – to be more aware – to see me – and when on Saturday he didn’t – when he didn’t respond when I brought the seed catalogs into his room to read – to talk about spring- to talk about rebirth – to make gestures of life – when he didnt’ open his eyes by the time I left that saturday – I was worried. Read the rest of this entry

Last year

Standard

There is no way today won’t suck.

      But Tara how can you start the day thinking with such negativity.?

Sorry – but it’s been a year since a stroke took my father’s life.  Yes, yes, he lived in the ICU for 27 days after – but this does not change the fact that  a year ago today,  a little blood vessel burst, and the hemorrhagic stroke that followed, took his life away.

-Took all the power from the left side of his body – caused his breathing to go off kilter, caused him to aspirate.  The aspiration meant intubation, the intubation lead to pneumonia.

Pneumonia didn’t let the brain heal.  And when the brain can’t heal – system after system begins to fail.  There were kidney problems and rejected blood transfusions, central lines collapsing, and a fever that just wouldn’t go away.

Today. It’s been a year today. Since my father woke up, and like every other Sunday went off to breakfast with his wife’s family.  That Sunday, my mother happened to have my sons staying with her. And she called to see, if Pops wanted to see them.  And that morning they all ended up at breakfast together.  That’s what I cling to.

Every time I get stuck in some endless loop of the ICU – like a movie I can’t stop re-watching -every time I can only see his trach, and the IVs, and the monitors, and the ice packs–  That’s when I think his last morning was spent with my sons-  eating their pancakes together, crawling over  his lap- calling him PopPop. And I think- even though we hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks, there was part of me with him that morning.

That night, my brother would zip my father into his fleece, get him ready for the ambulance, as the stroke pulled the life force from him. That night, I would watch LifeStar  fly my father into the hospital as we headed south on Rt. 91.  That night, everything would change. Everything.

And I haven’t been the same since, and I never will be again.  And today – as much as I count my blessings, and my friends, and my family – as much as I count each individual ray of sunlight — today, today is just going to suck.

the ramblings

Standard

Ten days ago, I was dipping my toes in the Mediterranean,  and soaking up the sun of Barcelona in an outside cafe, while sipping coffee, in a square a few hundred years old, and  watching my students learn to love a new place.

Seven days ago, people on the other line of a cell phone who sounded a million miles away, told me there was only a fifty-fifty shot my father would make it through the night.  They told me to come fast.

Six days ago, they told me he would be off the vent in a day.

Three days ago, I held my son while they drew his blood, from his tiny little arms, because the peanut, is getting lighter.

Two days ago, a nurse started being more straight with me than all the nurses before.  The pneumonia is menacing, the vent isn’t going anywhere.

Yesterday, I was told my gram might just have days to live.

Today, I was told maybe it might be longer.

And so – Read the rest of this entry

and the thing is

Standard

“Would you just hush up. ”
I’ve probably wished that,
or said that,
a million times
to my
oh so
loquacious father.

(What, you imagine I was born in a vacuum?)

And the thing is,
I’ll take every
single
one
of
those wishes
back.

Just to hear-
the same story of smashed pumpkins,
or nails in trees, or even
the time he caught me with his
back turned –

one
more
time.