Anatomy of One Crazy Day

I am going to start in reverse order here. I just got a phone call. There was a burly, scratchy voice on the other end. I was in shock to hear his voice, because when I last left him, he was pretty much unconscious. My dad had open heart surgery yesterday at a hospital in Nashville. It was one of the most crazy days of my life thusfar. I told my mom---I may write my first childrens' book yet! It will be called Pappy's Big Day, dedicated to the big hunk of loving guy everyone knows as Pappy!

My day yesterday (Thursday) pretty much blended into the day before. I never got to bed Wednesday night. There was much to do, a sick 6-year old to be tended, and tons of emotions running through me. Sarah had gone to urgent care Wed. night with a bad infection in her ear which came from this croupy coughing virus going around. With the proper antibiotics and pain meds in hand, we prepared to leave in the middle of the night to meet my parents at a Nashville hospital by 5 a.m.

The morning was breathtakingly cold but clear. We found a parking spot and waited on the curb outside for the parents and my brother Doug who were to arrive in a few minutes. The rest of the morning was a crazy blur. They took my dad, prepped him for the surgery, and we got to sit with him about an hour before they took him at 8. He was in high spirits and very, very calm. Two doctors who would be operating came in and gave us the stunning news that they were not going to do the previously-planned bypasses because they just did not feel he was blocked enough in the arteries to require it. They also told us that they had decided to tag-team so that the operation could be done faster and more smoothly than with just the original surgeon. So now we had 3 surgeons instead of one. Dad was fine with that, but a little surprised that they decided so late in the game to bag the bypasses.

As we got back out to the humongous waiting area, someone noted that it was snowing for the first time this year! It was really coming down but it did not stick. Still, it was beautiful to watch and gave us some respite from the monotony of a room with little more than chairs and carpet.

At this particular hospital, it is a little bit like a factory. I would imagine there were 200 people in the huge, no-frills waiting area which also serves as one of the main lobbies to the hospital. There were approximately 20 others having surgeries in different operating rooms, and their progress was posted on a big screen not unlike the schedules in bus and plane terminals. As one surgery would end, the phone would ring or doctors would come out with news, and the family would move to the next waiting room in the inner bowels of the huge complex.

We expected that the surgery could take 4 to 6 hours. We settled in, trying not to fall asleep, because we were now quite sleep-deprived. The small, straight chairs did not lend themselves to comfortable sleep. Some friends stopped in to lend love and support. Several others called our cellphones. That was nice. You really learn who your true friends are (and aren't) in times like these.

Around 11:30, as we visited with our newly-arrived preacher, who has known my dad since they were boys in Columbia years ago, we got the happy news that he was out of surgery and stable. I have to admit that my heart jumped a little when they came out so much earlier than expected. Still, the intolerable time it took us to cross the room was tempered by the funny little French doctor who was grinning ear to ear and had both thumbs up!

It took until nearly 3 p.m., which was much longer than expected, to get the news that we could see him. We had now moved to the more intimate cardiac care waiting room, but I was still a little annoyed by the lack of personal space. All conversations are easily heard by all in the room, and there were quite a few of us in there. The recliner chairs were coveted by all of us who were apparently in the same sleep-deprived boat. Why they even bother to put regular straight chairs in that room, I do not know. Everyone in there is emotionally drained and physically exhausted. Finally, after a longer wait than we had during surgery, we got to see him.

I was prepared for a not-so-pretty sight, but I don't guess anything could have prepared me for the display of awesome technology that was there. Dad had at least 11 different bags of fluid, each containing its own healing powers and lined up in neat little rows on poles, going in through uncountable tubes. I could see at least 3 different ports delivering fluids, and he has wires coming out his chest connected directly to the heart in case he needs some electrical help in the coming days. He was strapped down and covered up, and they had a new kind of heating plastic sheet delivering warmth to his shivering body. It was kind of like a giant blowdryer sending warm air through a plastic pool float covering his entire torso. I managed to find one hand that was squeezable, and I set about to try and get a response out of him.

The nurses wanted us to stimulate him so that he could get his really-low blood pressure up. It was reading about 70/30 when we first got there. The numbers were constantly changing, but by sheer will, we drove the b.p. higher by talking about things that were near and dear to my dad. We told him that he had some work to do if he was going to view the 8 p.m. football game!

After a couple of hours, I was growing concerned, because he was not waking up, and his b.p. was rising very slowly and back peddling at times. He was breathing mostly on his own, but they could not pull the ventilator until he showed that he could sustain breathing well for a period of time without help. Finally, I just kept calling, "Dad, Dad...." until all of the sudden, his eyes shot open. It was a little like a scene from a horror movie, and I jumped about two feet backwards. Then, it hit me that this was good, and I tried to start having him focus and respond.

We had worked out a signal before hand. Knowing he would be strapped down, Dad said he would try to raise one finger for "yes" and two for "no." He was not quite coherent enough to do it. I finally said, "Dad, can you squeeze my hand?" and he gave me the most firm, strong squeeze! I knew then that his brain function was fine, and really, this was when I knew that he was going to come out of this.

He was so doped that he drifted back into sleep, and becoming quite weary from standing bedside for the better part of three hours, Tim and I decided we had better head on home and check on the kids, who were in the care of my 18-year-old son. As soon as we hit the cold outside (which had dipped into the teens at this point) Tim's nose started to bleed and bled pretty much all the way home.

We called and checked on Dad one more time, and satisfied, we went to bed. At three this morning, my eyes popped open, and I could not rest until I called the hospital. I got a great report that his ventilator was now out, he was resting well, and his vitals were excellent. Mom was sleeping in the room and also getting some much-needed rest.

I guess that I did not quite expect that we would be herded like cattle all day yesterday, though the staff was always very nice to all of us. I thought this surgery experience would be a little more personal. Still, I cannot put into words how awed I am by what they do these days. It is simply amazing.

Dad went 66 years without major surgery. He has been so blessed to get this far without the need for surgery. Some cow somewhere did a noble thing by donating a valve, and we are told it can last for around 15 years, usually. We told them my grandfather's pig valve has lasted him nearly 30 years so far! At 86, he well may be one of the oldest living survivors of that procedure with the same valve.

As they say, we are not totally out of the woods yet. But from where I stand today, the forrest looks beautiful, and the gently falling snowflakes over the past couple of days have soothed my soul and given me a much-needed boost of spirit. Getting that unexpected phonecall this morning was WAY COOL! Speaking of cool, it is 9 degrees right now. As my p.j's say, (and to quote a line from one of my favorite holiday movies, Elf, "Baby, it's cold outside." It's o.k. Daddy's girl is grateful to God and one happy camper.