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Strength In Numbers
Aug. 2nd, 2010 09:54 amThing about not knowing, and not being able to do anything about the situation, is that you grasp at anything that might be a sign of what’s going on, and what’s going to happen. The monitor over my dad’s head has all these numbers and lines trending past, the top one is pulse rate, forget what the next two down are, blood pressure at the bottom, and the light blue number in the corner is the percent oxygen absorption, it was at 90 when I first came here, and that’s low, I remember them saying he was having problems absorbing oxygen through his lungs so they had to put him on pure oxygen, so when the number goes up to 95 and then to 97 my heart leaps and shouts he’s gonna be alright and then the number goes down to 94 and it’s like a punch in the gut and I start thinking oh my god what if everything starts going bad and there’s nothing I can do about it and I have to stand here and watch him slip away. Goddamn numbers. I know it doesn’t really mean much, there’s way too much going on, more than displays and gauges and charts and monitors can convey. But that one number is all I can see.
He’s getting better tho, some things about him. They thought they’d have to do dialysis to ease the stress on his kidneys and his lungs. The doctor is really straightforward about telling us the best and worst case scenarios, the next two days are critical, things could get better - he’s got a strong heart, but there’s a problem in his lungs and might be a problem in his kidneys, that’s two organ problems and if it goes to three that’s Multi Organ Failure and a man of his age won’t likely handle that well. I think the doctor actually used the word “goner”. Like I said, he’s straightforward, and that’s cool, I prefer it to someone who won’t look you in the eyes and hesitates trying to choose his words. But dad’s kidneys got better on their own without dialysis, and his lungs are responding to the antibiotics. But then last night his heart started racing irregularly so they had to do a gentle electric shock defibrillation (I didn’t know there was such a thing as a “gentle” defibrillation. I guess instead of yelling “CLEAR!” they say “Begging your pardon, please stand clear of the patient, if it please you.”) and now he’s better, this morning his numbers (argh numbers!) look better than ever. But things are up and down so fast, so drastically, I almost don’t want to ask, don’t want to tell mom, because everything changes so fast. It’s really hard to take. I wish I could stay at least one more day, but trying to change my flight at this point would cost about a thousand dollars; I checked. The waiting room is full of my family already, cousins and uncles and aunts are storming the hospital, last night eight of us went out to dinner and there were still eleven Hsiehs back at the hospital. We outnumber the Mexicans, fer chrissake. So I’m coming home now. Be good to see people. Go climbing again. See Tricia at home. Cook food. Have a drink. Have some summer. Then head back out, maybe in a couple weeks, maybe September.
He’s getting better tho, some things about him. They thought they’d have to do dialysis to ease the stress on his kidneys and his lungs. The doctor is really straightforward about telling us the best and worst case scenarios, the next two days are critical, things could get better - he’s got a strong heart, but there’s a problem in his lungs and might be a problem in his kidneys, that’s two organ problems and if it goes to three that’s Multi Organ Failure and a man of his age won’t likely handle that well. I think the doctor actually used the word “goner”. Like I said, he’s straightforward, and that’s cool, I prefer it to someone who won’t look you in the eyes and hesitates trying to choose his words. But dad’s kidneys got better on their own without dialysis, and his lungs are responding to the antibiotics. But then last night his heart started racing irregularly so they had to do a gentle electric shock defibrillation (I didn’t know there was such a thing as a “gentle” defibrillation. I guess instead of yelling “CLEAR!” they say “Begging your pardon, please stand clear of the patient, if it please you.”) and now he’s better, this morning his numbers (argh numbers!) look better than ever. But things are up and down so fast, so drastically, I almost don’t want to ask, don’t want to tell mom, because everything changes so fast. It’s really hard to take. I wish I could stay at least one more day, but trying to change my flight at this point would cost about a thousand dollars; I checked. The waiting room is full of my family already, cousins and uncles and aunts are storming the hospital, last night eight of us went out to dinner and there were still eleven Hsiehs back at the hospital. We outnumber the Mexicans, fer chrissake. So I’m coming home now. Be good to see people. Go climbing again. See Tricia at home. Cook food. Have a drink. Have some summer. Then head back out, maybe in a couple weeks, maybe September.
