Flight and Fight

For those who don't know, my Dad is even older than I am, by nearly four decades. Dad has some interesting behavioural traits that have increased as he's marched along through life. One of his biggest problems, still, is that his brain tells him to move at the speed of a 30 year old, while his body is about 90, with tissue paper thin skin and a bum ticker, so that when he gets up quickly, well, his body slows him back down anyway it can.

My Dad, photo taken by My Sister - Date TBA:)

Dad has managed to cut hisself at least oh, 5 times in the past few months. Using an electric cart the last time, he ripped a triangular arrow, pointing up, thank heavens, out of the back of his calf. Still had the flap of skin and everything. On an electric cart. I went and looked at the cart, and still can't figure out how he managed to do that.  Anyway, he's at the GIANT grocery store, and goes to the pharmacy to ask for a band-aid. In the cart, of course. The pharmacy rushes him over to the walk-in clinic, where a doctor tries to fix him up. I  can just imagine. Naturally, Dad didn't have his OHIP card on him. He was just going to the store! So he had to pay $75.00 to be treated with a large band-aid. Talk about adding insult to his injury. The last time, he cut himself getting out of the dentist's chair, and then on a ATM box at the convenience store, on the same day. The man wants to leave his mark on Toronto! Anyway, I digress.

The last few times he's had to go into hospital, he's been a code white patient on the second day. Security must be called to keep him in bed, or he will go HOME. Just try and stop him! He hallucinates, and can be really ugly about it. BOY could he get ugly about it. I was around for the first "display". I laugh about it now. Not so much fun, back when it happened about 7 years ago. I helped diagnose his problems, (amazing how many people can't recognize it) and since then, he's really tried to cut back, so that when he has had to go BACK into hospital, the crazy number two night wasn't quite so bad. It almost killed him the first time. Even the nurses were a little wild-eyed by what Dad endured that first, terrible time. How could he survive a heart-rate like that, day after day? Well, he did. Fight.

Dad has worked hard to get himself fit enough to play golf, and last summer was his best season yet! He won a trophy or two, made good bucks betting on his favourite game. Darn it all, though, his legs had been paining him, and he was breathless and dizzy this fall. Two valves in his heart weren't valving properly, which was why he got so dizzy and breathless. Of course, he didn't slow down.

So, he decided to have a few tests done, to see if he'd make a good candidate for a new procedure that doesn't involve cracking his chest, as he calls it. The first test was last Valentine's Day, and he was supposed to go home, with supervision, that night. (He lives alone, btw. I know, I know. Dad smokes too. Not much, but still.)

Dad is still there, 2/22/2012, BUT hopeful that he's coming out tomorrow!

Anyway, here's the fight/flight part. Dad went in for the test, but his response was poor, his leg was VERY painful, and then went numb. Not good. This time, on the second night, he again had security called, because he was found wandering the halls, having ripped out his IV. (He was discovered to be anemic, and had next to no HgB, poor guy.) Ayup, Dad was leaving the hospital, and he shoved his night nurse out of the way to do it. Took out his IV drip himself, as he was ready to check out of this joint.

BUT, this time, after the security people "held him", he called an old female friend, instead of me. 12:30am, Dad calls her, and says "The hospital security is holding me here. Will you come and pick me up?" He sounds completely lucid and rational to her. It's freezing rain outside. His friend wasn't born yesterday of course, and calls me. I have to laugh a little. He's flighting to get out. He wants to GO HOME. I call the night nurse, who says "OH, I am SO glad you called!! Was your father in the war? Does he know a woman named Crystal?" Yes, he was in the Navy, he didn't see any "action", (although he is still a hero in my eyes), and nope, no woman named Crystal. That I know of, anyway.
He can watch movies on the ceiling when he's like this. Slightly (okay, lots) delirious, but NOTHING like he was the first time. So the nurse says "Can I restrain him?" I say, YES Please. I think the threat kept him down for the rest of the night. I called him and talked to him, and he was eerily there, but not there. He asked, "Am I berserk?" I reassured him he wasn't. But he was AWARE he was loopy, and that was a good sign to me, anyway. I am sure the night nurse would have preferred all non-loopy, but at least she has stories to tell:)
By Friday, his leg was still bad, and the Docs ran another test, and scheduled him for bypass-surgery, as they'd discovered a blockage in his previous bypass-graft. So, Saturday at dawn, off he went. (More to that story, but it's for later, maybe.)
My family, naturally, is TerriblY worried, and at about the five hour mark of waiting in the Critical Care Unit's waiting room, one of the saddest places on earth, the call comes that we can go in and see him. And what a sight it was...
Dad had a male nurse and a female nurse, and I knew their expressions well. Dad was thrashing as hard as he could, trying to sit up, so he could go HOME. He's just out of anaesthetic, and he's fine, and he's going HOME, you f**king *ssHoles!! The leg they'd operated on has already hit the floor, by the time we get there. They called us in to help. His leg was on the floor for the second time, when we got there. He'd wiggled his IV out. He was FIGHTING, dammit! They had to sedate him. But not before he yelled out, in response to my "If you want to live, stay still, dad",
"I'D RATHER DIE OF A HEART ATTACK THAN BE HERE!!"
Thrash thrash thrash, swear, swear, swear, we hold him down, a new IV line is run, and he's finally quiet. He doesn't die. You should have seen the look on the faces of the patients and staff. Most of the patients, of course, were lying quietly, you know, because they were in a hospital, right after major surgery, in a CCU. Not my Dad!
He'll fight, or flight. Whichever works best, right, Dad?
Just as he finally started to settle, I told him how proud I was of him.
I so, so am.

Love you, Dad.
thanks to SOS for the idea.