Really ill.
He has been for a good long time, maybe going all the way back to 2009 if I am remembering things correctly.
I'm probably going to jumble some of the facts. I hope those that know the actual order of events forgive me.
My son was in his senior year at a service academy. My daughter was in her senior year of high school. My youngest was just finishing up his last year of home schooling.
For a senior spring trip the oldest decided to spend the time at Disney World. My daughter was going to spend her spring break visiting colleges.
My brother calls me, and my dad is sick, he's getting him admitted to the hospital, his kidneys are shutting down and it doesn't look good. We should all plan on seeing him sooner than later. It's the call no child wants to hear, but needs to hear. I know, I've made the call to my children about my own health scares.
My brother is with my dad and seeing to business. My youngest sister overlaps her trip to Florida from Minnesota so she can get the full skinny on what's going on. She's tough and she's done a couple things in regards to elder care. My other sister doesn't want to see our father ill. I plan my trip to overlap that of my visiting sister.
My kids are all in various stages of traveling. The eldest is now at Disney World. My youngest is visiting his other grandfather who lives just north of Tampa Bay. My daughter cancels her trip to the Pacific Northwest and flies with me to Orlando.
We realize there are all sorts of things we don't know. All sorts of things we need to do no matter if Dad lives or dies. We need power of medical attorney. We need to know if he has a will and where it is if he does. It's a terrible thing to have to do but it has to be done.
We go to the hospital the next day and head to the Intensive Care Unit. Dad is there, a big smile on his face, cracking jokes with the nurses who absolutely adore him. It's easy to understand. In their unit, my father is the only one awake.
My brother has been handling things for a week and he leaves the remnants to my sister and I. Of all the things we need to do, we need to find him a rehab center where, should he survive, he will be taken for physical therapy.
We go to all sorts of rehab live-in facilities. We walk the corridors, looking at patients, looking at floors, looking at nurses and nurses aides. My sister worked for A Place for Mom for a while and she's got a set criteria of things she is looking for. I worked in a nursing home as a high schooler and I am in-tune with smells.
This place smells like urine. Nope - he's not going there. Not enough staff - nope he's not going there. This one seems nice, what do you think my sister asks. Nope, can you smell the perfume in the air? They're hiding something.
We finally find a place that fits all our parameters including being able to get him in once he is released, if he is released, from the hospital.
Slowly, his kidney function recovers. He jokes more and more with the nurses. Although still pale, we are beginning to see Dad's personality and vitality come back.
We've gotten legal documents taken care of now, mainly due to my brother's extensive footwork. All my kids have been able to visit their grandfather. P gives up valuable time from his theme-park vacation. C gets a ride from his other grandfather to the hospital. All of the kids talk to my dad and give him their love. My father-in-law takes us all to lunch before he and C leave to go back north.
Somehow, everything works out. They declare Dad well enough to go by ambulance to the facility my sister and I have selected. We've met the "manager." We like him, he's personable and heck, he's got a framed, signed photo of Tiger Woods in his office. There is a beautiful outdoor courtyard where guests can take their lunch or if able walk/wheel themselves outside. We've had the grand tour, seen the physical therapy areas, the nurses, the therapists and the paper pushers. This is the right place for Dad.
We're able to spend a few more days before each of us has to head back. It sucks that none of us are close. But, my wonderful Aunt is there and my beautiful cousin. They have our backs. They've spent so much time with Dad. He's been back there about ten years and has gotten to know his big sister. He's gotten to know his niece and there are so many people there that really care about him.
We are able to leave and go to our homes, thousands of miles away, knowing he is in the best hands we could ever hope for.
Now it is eight years later. Dad is living on about ten percent of his heart. He has been for a long, long time. When he got out of rehab all those years ago, I swear he was in the best shape of his life. I'd never seen him look so healthy. Not bad for a guy who's had a membership in the zipper club for decades and whose healthy heart is greatly compromised. Those people in the rehab center took the little he had and made it do wonders.
We're hoping again for a similar miracle. He's going back to the same facility. New name, new management. No bad reports yet. My youngest sister is there now, just like before, conferring with my brother, figuring out next steps. My aunt is gone and my cousin has lost her husband. The stars aren't as perfectly aligned this time as last. We still hope.
I don't have a job, so I'll be headed down around the time Dad is due to get out of rehab.
We still don't like this, but in some respects we are much better prepared. It is hard to mentally prepare yourself for a potential last good-bye, last hug, last I love you.
Every once in a while she reminds me that my official days of becoming a senior are not that far away.
I've inherited cardiac issues from my dad, along with kidney stones and a couple other things. I saw what physical therapy did for my dad before and I'm determined to keep my heart strong. It requires a lot of commitment and there are definitely days when I fail. I try to put the failures in my rear view mirror and move forward.
My dad is about to turn eighty-five. He's no longer young, and has been considered a senior for twenty years. We are so lucky to still have him with us, still hear him cracking jokes. I look forward to watching really bad B quality science fiction movies with him again. I look forward to helping him keep up the fitness regime the clinic is using with him.
I look forward to recording the stories of his life so that when his flame does extinguish, we will have recorded memories of a life that has seen incredible things.
Most of all, I will cherish the time we have together. But not just me and my dad, me and the people I care about. As much as Dad is flying by the seat of his health pants right now, not one of us has any guarantee of the next breath.
Cherish your time in this world with those you love and care about.
PS - I am currently, a little over twenty-four hours later, enjoying pain-free eyes.
PPS - Take this as a wake-up call to get your legal affairs in order, especially any final life medical directives you want followed. It is a gift to your family and will help tremendously during times of crisis.