One Scare After Another

Dearest Rachel –

This is going to sound familiar to you at this point, given the tumult that occupied much of the last five years of your life. The past couple of days have been just what I’ve said at the top of this letter – one scare after another – with regard to Dad and his condition; I wish I had you here to recommend a course of action.

I wasn’t even aware of the first incident that touched things off, since it happened in the wee hours of Tuesday morning. My folks didn’t even try to contact me at that time, which may be just as well; I would have slept through the call in any event, since most phone calls I get these days are spam. But it would seem that Dad woke up in the middle of the night in some serious pain. In short order, he and mom were headed over to the emergency room to figure out what the situation was and what to do with it.

To hear them tell it, that happened to be an experience all its own. Having been in our local hospital late at night, I tend to think of it as a fairly quiet place. Granted, those nights were spent in the intensive care unit as opposed to the emergency room, but this is a quiet suburb, not the middle of the inner city; medical emergencies don’t seem like they would be commonplace, especially in the wee hours. But according to my folks, it was a madhouse there the other night, with all manner of activity bordering on chaos going on.

One patient in particular was guarded over by at least five hulking security personnel – whether police or hospital staff, Mom and Dad either didn’t know or didn’t say. She was making an incredible racket all on her own; these burly guys were meant to restrain her, or so it seems. At one point, my folks made a comment about the situation to an orderly, who responded with “You have no idea how often we get assaulted here.”

So much for my assumptions about our ‘quiet’ suburb, I suppose.

They gave Dad an X-ray, and while it was established that they weren’t cracked, let alone broken – which is a mercy of its own – his ribs were sore enough for the injuries to be visible in the pictures. They prescribed various medications, mostly for the pain, and sent him home; by the time I arrived at the ‘office,’ everything seemed to be calm enough. He’d even managed to get three or four hours of sleep upon returning home, which is always welcome.

However, all wasn’t well just yet; one of the prescriptions was still in process of being filled, and it wasn’t clear when it would be available. I offered to pick it up for them – with the caveat that I would be walking with Lars in the meantime, so I wouldn’t be able to do so until some time between four and five – and they seemed amenable to the arrangement.

But while the two of us were enjoying our meal after our walk, he got a call from the folks. They’d tried to reach me, but again, I had my phone on silent and – out of courtesy to the friend I was sitting down with for lunch – I had it turned upside-down so as to focus on him rather than the phone. I simply don’t expect to be called with an emergency (unlike Lars, who despite being retired, still has patients he consults with, as well as tending to his own aging father). As a result, they had better luck getting in touch with him than myself to inform me that the prescription was (supposedly – put a pin in that thought) ready to be picked up.

Ironically, the two of us lingered for a good half-hour thereafter; Lars had a few questions to ask me – not about the situation, mind you – that I felt compelled to answer, and as a result, it was after five by the time we parted. Moreover, the traffic heading west was no small challenge – between the rush-hour traffic, certain construction taking place, and the re-routing of various streets due to flooding over the weekend, every route was slowed to a crawl.

Eventually, I got to the drug store – and as I was pulling in, I got another call from the folks asking me where I was, whereupon I proceeded to fill them in on where I was – but as I informed the pharmacist manning the drive-up window who I was picking up for, she told me that they were still working on it, and would I wait for another twenty minutes. I called the folks back to let them know, and I could hear Dad’s dismay. Evidently, they’d given them a similar request – wait twenty minutes and come back later – some time ago, and while they are patient people, it was starting to get to them. “I need it bad!” Dad said, in a tone that actually worried me.

I pulled into the parking lot of the pharmacy, and went in, intending to go full Karen (or whatever the male equivalent to that is; Kenneth? Kyle?) on them. But after waiting for one person ahead of me in line, I stepped up to the counter and informed them who I was picking up for, and the clerk – a different one than the one at the drive-up window – promptly handed me the bag with the prescription. It hadn’t even been ten minutes since I’d been told otherwise; maybe not even five. It was the sort of thing that added a bit of levity to the situation that really needed it, to be honest.

***

This morning, however, was nothing like that. I was wrapping up my morning at the gym – or at least me first stretch on the treadmill – when I realized I’d gotten several messages from the folks yet again. Mom was unable to get Dad to stand up, and needed my help right away; however, I still had to clean off the treadmill and walk home from the gym. I got both of those done as quickly as I could, but apart from helping change the batteries on their thermometer, there wasn’t much I could do. Even getting him to his feet, while doable, was only a momentary accomplishment, as he proceeded to sag in our arms and fall back into the recliner, despite insisting that he wanted to stand.

Mom called Jenn, who – after attempting to get a read on their glucose meter and failing (since all of the strips had expired, and the needle wasn’t getting a decent blood draw) – suggested we have an ambulance take him back to the hospital. It’s clear that he needs long-term care again, but we need a doctor’s referral in order to get this done properly, and the best way to do that is to get him back to the hospital.

The paramedics were friendly and efficient; moreover, they had the equipment to get a read of his vitals, which explained his situation. Pulse of 95 or so, oxygenation of 91% (which isn’t great), blood pressure of 79 over 40 (which is absurdly low; even the technician called the reading ‘weird’) and a glucose reading about four times normal levels (which should be just over 100). So yeah; there was – is – a lot wrong at the moment, and a day or two in hospital should allow the professionals ample opportunity to sort things out, as well as confirming that he needs to be returned to long-term care. But that still leaves a lot up in the air.

At least at this point, we know he’s not quite at the point of no return, so the worst of the scare is over for now – or so we think. Then again, it isn’t as if he’s getting any younger, or, more to the point, stronger; where he goes from here is anybody’s guess (although we have our suspicions). Needless to say, honey, I’d ask for you to keep an eye on him, and Mom, in particular, and wish us all well, as we’re going to need it.