… and I am Somebody male. in my thirties. recovering alcoholic. live in minneapolis. work in progress. gay. serenity please.

What really matters

12.11.2005 · Posted in Family

I got out of my Thursday night Men’s Big Book Study meeting in St. Paul and checked my cell phone. 4 missed calls. All from my mother. Mom’s a little OCD, but this was a little out of the ordinary, even for her. Something had to be wrong.

I checked my voicemail. Mom calling. Sounds frazzled. “Call me right away.” Next message is more of the same. The third one I can hear that she’s in a car. “Get to Abbot Northwestern Hospital. It’s your father. Hurry.”

Two months ago my father celebrated his 70th birthday. Something my mother has since told me that he never thought he’d be able to do. He’s had heart problems since he was in his mid fifties. Triple bypass, artery replacements, valve replacement, etc., etc., etc. Thing is, he hasn’t had anything act up in years. In hindsight, we should have been paying closer attention.

Heading west-bound on I-94, driving as fast as safely possible, my mother calls. She’s sobbing, can barely speak, but she manages to convey that Dad had gone under but they’d been able to revive him.

We meet in the emergency room. I arrive shortly before my mother and uncle do. She comes in as fast as she can, looking for anyone with answers. We’re instructed that he’s doing okay and that we can see him shortly.

Calming down, my mother tells me the details of what happened. How they were sitting down to watch Survivor. Dad was tired and sat in his chair, tipped his head back, and momentarily fell asleep – something he’s been known to do now and then. My mother tried to wake him, but he didn’t respond. She went over to him and he was stiff. And not breathing. With no pulse.

She called 911. They instructed her to lay him on the floor. She rubbed his chest and opened his mouth, trying to ensure his airway was opened. He suddenly begun breathing again. Frightened, not knowing what happened, he pushed her away. The paramedics arrived, put him on the stretcher and carted him out.

In the ER, ironically at the same time ER was airing on NBC, the doctor explained to us the results of the tests. The EKG showed that his heart had been somewhat strained. They transferred him up to the Intensive Care Unit.

We arrived up on the second floor ICU five minutes later, standing in my father’s room. He was conscious and alert. Though he still didn’t remember what happened in the living room, he remembered eating dinner and everything leading up to that.

The doctor came in and asked us a few questions. The nurse got him situated, feeding various bottles up into his IV.

We left the room to head down to the family lounge. A monitor began to beep erratically. I didn’t pay any attention to it, because there are beeps coming from any number of machines from any number of rooms – how can you tell where they’re coming from? Unfortunately, this one happened to be my father’s heart monitor – it had stopped again. They pulled out the paddles, positioned them on his chest, and shocked him back to life.

This happened five or six times before I fell asleep. I found out later that it continued to happen – roughly 10 – 12 times throughout the night.

I awoke in the morning and they were transferring him up to surgery to do an angiogram and insert a temporary pacemaker and defribulator, after which he was transferred again upstairs to the Cardiac-ICU.

He’s still there. Rarely awake, recuperating. He hasn’t had any more incidents, but there have been a few spikes in the monitor. Every time I hear one of those beeps go wild I get a little nervous. Tomorrow he is going into surgery to have a permanent pacemaker / defribulator inserted. This is supposed to be the cure-all for him.

I am grateful I have been sober through this. People contacted me when they found out what had happened. They offerred help. They wanted to make sure that I was okay. It was truly wonderful.

I’m grateful I was able to make amends with my parents. Because of that, I felt no shame with my father. I didn’t know what would happen, but I knew that I had made my peace. At one point my father looked up at me, grabbed my hand and told me he was glad I was there. That meant a lot to me. It was as if he was trying to comfort me instead of the other way around. Still providing, still being the parent.

I’m grateful I’ve been able to be there to comfort my mother. To make sure she’s not alone during this.

And most of all, I’m glad I haven’t lost it yet. Sobriety has allowed me to be present.

28 Responses to “What really matters”

  1. Wish your parents my best for me.

    Thank you for sharing the experience and your thoughts.

  2. I’m proud of you. You and your family are in my prayers.

  3. Dan, I am praying for you. For you and for your family.

    Your sobriety is a gift. May God give you wisdom and comfort during these difficult days.

    Brad 🙂

  4. I lost my mother when I was 17, and I know what a giant test it was on my father’s sobriety. There is no easy way to deal with the shit that life throws at you while trying to stand up on your own as an alcoholic. Just when you think you’ve got it handled… But God never gives us more than we can handle, as corny as that sounds. Good luck my friend, and know that you are blessed to face your family in dignity and the self-respect you have earned yourself.

  5. Hang in there and stay strong, Dan. I’m so sorry you’re going through this family crisis right now. Know that we’re all supporting you out here.

  6. That brought tears to my eyes. You’re inspirational. 🙂

  7. This is the time when the gift of sobriety shines through for us. To be there with all you are and to be strong for others. I am curretnly going through a similar situation with my Mom. I have been so surprised that she gives ME the strength to get through this odeal rather than the other way round.
    My prayers are with you as God carries out His will.

  8. I wish your family all the best.

  9. I’m thinking of you, and wishing you and your family the best.

    And keep up the good work.

  10. Wow… I am praying for your father’s survival. There are still years to go for you both. May the things you cherish not be possessions but people.

    Thanks for the reminder.

  11. I hope eveything turns out well with your father. Your family will be in my thoughts and prayers this holiday season.

  12. Sorry to hear about this; you’ll be in my thoughts. Stay strong.

  13. All will be as it is intended to be. I will say a prayer for your family.

    Nice blog. dAAve sent me over.

  14. You and your family have my prayers.

  15. My best wishes to you and your family – there’s a lot I could say, as my own father died in similarly unexpected circumstances just two months ago, but I’ll leave it at saying how important for all of you to support each other morally.

  16. Take care! I’m hoping for the best through these trying times.

  17. I hope everything turns out for the best for you and your family.

  18. Wow Dan… sorry I didn’t know what was going on. I’ll see you when you get to work. You’re in my prayers.

    Rich

  19. sending you a big hug through the blogsphere…..

  20. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

  21. I hope your father is recovering well. My thoughts are with you.

  22. Sending my best wishes. Hang in there.

  23. I hope that everything goes ok. I am wishing the best for you. Stay strong !

  24. DAN: YOU and your family are in my prayers.
    :: HUG ::

  25. Thinking of you.

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