The past year, between my 44th and 45th birthdays, is one my family affectionately refers to as "the year from hell". The one really good thing, my youngest sister's wedding, was preceded by a family divorce. And then...
On November 18th my mother fainted on the stairs. My father took her to the emergency room where several hours later she was told that she had a growth on the brain. She was transferred to the Cleveland Clinic, where they told her that yes indeed, you have a brain tumor. Well holy shit, that isn't something you hear every day. We had celebrated her 70th birthday in April with a big party, and now she could die? My mother, little feisty Catholic woman that she is, has a brain tumor? Oh hell.
She went into surgery on November 22nd, ironically the 47th anniversary of the day Kennedy got his own hole in the head. We stayed at the Cleveland Clinic all day, until it was finally announced that she was out of surgery, and it was benign. Ah. We can breathe again. I didn't get to see her that day; it was two days later that I got to see my mom in recovery, with her swollen face and receding hair and stitches in her head from one side to the other. I left that day and cried.
If I can point to a time when I gained a newfound respect for my father, that was the time. He drove to Cleveland Clinic every day and spent the whole day with her. He came home drained, but got in the car the next day and repeated the process. Only one day did he miss, and that was because of a big ice storm. Yeah, yeah, I know that the only "real" heroes these days are the soldiers and cops and firefighters, at least according to everyone out there, but my father was nothing but heroic. And don't forget to thank Coast Guardsmen too. I'm just saying.
My mother was transferred to Lorain for therapy, and on December 24th she came home. That was Christmas last year. Screw the gifts. She slowly got back to normal, and now you would never know she had her skull opened up. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
On December 30th I went to bed and had some trouble breathing. As the night went on it continued to hurt, to the point where I decided to drive myself to the emergency room. After several hours I was told I had pneumonia, and oh yeah, you're being hospitalized. Great. So I spent three days in the hospital, including New Year's Eve. Hooray.
About two weeks later my mother went back to the hospital. She had some sort of infection. Was there for three days.
About two weeks after that my father was admitted to the hospital. Breathing issues. I think. It's all a blur sometimes.
Life was stable somewhat, except for the usual autism issues I deal with every day of my life. At the beginning of May, my father was admitted to the hospital with congestive heart failure. He was there a week this time. Left with a prescription for oxygen, 24-7.
Two months later I was at my daughter's Little League game and I got a call. Your dad needs to go to the emergency room, he's having stomach pains. I take him and my mother and stay until 11PM. And go back with my mom the next day. And the next. My mother hasn't driven since the brain surgery, so she needed someone to drive her. So I did. There was no thinking about it- she needed the help, so I gave her the help. She's my mom.
My father's condition worsened; he was scheduled for abdominal surgery, but his heartrate skyrocketed so they cancelled it. Several days later he almost died- he went into cardiac arrest and stopped breathing. He had a pacemaker installed. All the while he was exhibiting all the signs of dementia. He was confused, he couldn't remember things, he kept trying to yank out his tubes, he didn't remember that my brother came to visit him. It was heartbreaking. But every day I went to pick up my mother, and we drove to the hospital to see him. If my mom needed groceries, I took her there too.
My father was transferred to a nursing facility for physical therapy. His memory issues didn't improve. He took a couple of falls. Two weeks in he had to be rushed to the hospital because of his blood pressure. He was there for two days, where they made some medicine adjustments, and finally his mind came out of the clouds. Two weeks after that he was discharged. Now you would never know he had had any trouble at all.
If there was any good that came out of it all, it was that I got to know my parents in a completely different way. I love my parents tremendously. If they need me to step up again, they don't even have to ask. I'm there. But I hope the rest of the year is hospital-free.
Ma and Pa, I love you. Just stay healthy for more than a few weeks at a time :)
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