If I were to blog tonight, I'd write about my dad going into ICU on Sunday. I'd talk about the decision to not drive out to Palm Desert because my mom seemed too panicky when they called Code Blue (which I didn't understand due to the fact that I was raised Christian Science and I don't watch TV). I'd talk about how my sister Julia was going to take her girls out there to say goodbye to Papa forever and I couldn't even reach my sister Megan because she was so freaked out. Instead I spoke with Garth, the nurse, who was tending to Dad because everyone else seemed so dramatic. I'd get the objective opinion. I would stay in my bubble holding the healing energy by concentrating on my dad's wholeness rather than his sickness. Then since dad would be there awhile, I'd go up the next day.
I'd talk about taking my boys to the beach so I could be near the negative ions and fill my heart with love over fear and how I walked through soft sand for an hour to process, process, process. I would talk about the fact that what I was processing also involved the realization that Kevin, my friend of 18 years, doesn't want to be my friend anymore because I want a divorce. And how I thought my shear will or shamanic powers or the million and one classes I took to be a better person could some how convince or coerce or draw him to acceptance and One Love. I'd talk about finding out he has a girlfriend and how I'm not supposed to know because he told my dad who told my mom who told me at dinner after we'd visited my dad in ICU.
I'd talk about how my mom stalled her husband's surgery by asking the nice surgeon to find her the remote control so she could watch the Oscars. Of course, she didn't realize he was the surgeon. She thought he was just a nice plump black orderly. When she told me this story, I told her I was going to blog about that, she asked me to change her name. So let's say her name is Betsy.
I'd write about how my dad smiled and squeezed my hand when he saw me. I'd say how proud I was that my mom called me the family's comic relief. I'd tell Kevin that's a gift from him but I don't think he'd hear me. And some breaths are worth saving.
I'd talk about the arguement my parents got over miscommunication. Dad wanted to understand what was happening to him in "laymen's terms" after the nurse explained what they hoped would they expected for the next few days. He mispelled laymen (you can't talk with a new trach in your Adam's apple) and even though I understood what he wanted and needed via eye contact, my mom told the nurse in a demeaning tone that "we weren't sure of what he really meant because she couldn't read his writing." I'd write about how that upset me.
I'd write about my dad learning he'd be there for awhile and wanted to call his first client in six months to tell her her had an emergency trach and was hooked up to a ventilator and be back by the 18th. Meanwhile today is the 23rd. So not sure what that meant there.
I'd mention the trek to Best Buy to get the phone cord and plugging in the phone at the restaurant to get the juice, dinner with my mom and the secrets that were discussed. I'd write about near fights and the tears and the uncontrollable laughter.
I'd write about talking to my dad's client and how he tried to hide the phone after I explained what she said, even though he shouldn't have the phone in ICU. How my mom wanted me to fetch the phone that was wedged between dad's hospital gown and his buttcheck. Ew.
I'd talk about asking the kind nurse to explain to my dad how the phone messed with the machines. How sad and hopeless we all felt when dad got angry with mom and me for taking away the phone. That his blood pressure skyrocketed while he wheezed out his protests and angrily gesticulated with his hands that were strapped to the bed so he couldn't pull out his trach. How mom said "We need to sedate him," loud enough for dad to hear and when I got mad at her for that. she whispered the same sentence like that was somehow better.
I'd talk about the ride home from the hospital last night and how my mom wanted to scream out the window and I asked her if she'd prefer the moonroof and how we howled our anguish together under the dark star-strewn moonless sky. It's a Dark Moon right now.
I'd talk about explaining to my boys that Papa was going to be okay. Yes, he was at death's door. No, I didn't realize it was that bad, but yes he's getting better. It's like he's at the bottom of a well and he's climbing out. But he's still a long way down.
I'd say all that... if I was going to blog tonight.