I don't know where to start..
I remember that it was all over the news, how they were seeing a contagion that had started in Wuhan, China that was spreading throughout the population, numbers of those affected were increasing at an alarming rate, the number of deaths were piling up. Fear of it spreading to other parts of the world was everywhere, the whole world was talking about it, unbeknownst to us and the world, that it had already escaped the boundaries of China, and had traveled to many other countries already.
The media and news outlets were saturated with stories of this virus, news of so many deaths, medical personnel were unclear as to how to treat these patients, deaths were increasing and bodies were piling up, funeral homes had to resort to refrigerator trucks in order to store the bodies. Makeshift hospitals were going up everywhere, hospitals were converting other departments into extra ICU floors due to the influx of so many patients, ventilators were scarce. Who would it affect most? How do we catch it? How do we treat it? No one knew. We were afraid to talk to each other, to go grocery shopping (I can't believe that we were wiping our groceries with clorox wipes), coming home from work and stripping down and washing your clothes immediately upon entering your house, (was I carrying anything on my shoes?) Wear a mask, don't wear a mask. Businesses were closed, schools were closed, places of worship were closed, restaurants were closed. Working from home became common place, quarantines, video calls with family, zoom meetings with coworkers, virtual schooling, everything cancelled. We were left in the dark, misinformation spread by those we should've been able to trust.
When it all started, the beginning of 2020, we were all left to our own devices. I remember my parents coming over for lunch, and we were discussing everything that we knew so far about what was happening, as I'm sure other families were. Our individual plans on how to stay safe. We discussed how my Dad was probably the most vulnerable because of his age, and comorbidities that he lived with. We planned to keep him safe as best as we could. He would quarantine at home away from everyone else, he had his gardening and that would keep him occupied and far from anyone who might be sick. We also kept our distance, because we were still working outside of the home, kids were still in school, playing sports, so we were afraid to spread anything to him.
My Mom had called me not too long after to tell me that my Dad was a little under the weather but she had taken him to see the doctor and he had prescribed medication for him and he was feeling much better. My Dad would always catch a cold at this time of the year, it was common for him, so we didn't think anything of it at the time. He felt better, was still active, looked and felt good. A week later he started experiencing new symptoms so the doctor prescribed something else and again he felt better. My Mom worried that it might be this new virus, Covid, but I tried to reassure her. Covid tests weren't commonplace yet so they weren't testing for Covid at the time and all you could do was stay home and let it run its course. So, you didn't even know you had it. They basically advised you to stay home until you had severe symptoms. If and when you developed anything severe, like diff breathing, then you can go to the hospital.
My Dad started to experience very high fevers, and with those fevers he started to shake uncontrollably. He never experienced any difficulty breathing. My Mom cared for him at home until she could no longer do it. When the fever spiked, the shaking was so uncontrollable that it was difficult to walk, or to eat and he was very uncomfortable. My Mom was concerned as well that the shaking would aggravate his heart condition so she called the doctor and he recommended calling an ambulance. We were about to embark on the worst two weeks of our lives.
Everything was unrecognizable, the hospital wasn't allowing any visitors, not even private physicians were allowed in to see their patients, they were consulting from afar via phone and or computers. So we were left with entrusting our loved ones to physicians that we had never met. Physicians who didn't know their patients on a personal level, a level of care that takes years to acquire. A relationship like no other, a doctor/patient circle of trust. I have to say, we were very lucky that my Dad's private doctor called my Mom twice a day to give her updates on how my Dad was doing, discussed treatment options, relayed information that we weren't privy to. I am very grateful to him and appreciate him more than he'll ever know.
My Mom followed the ambulance to the emergency room and was told that she wouldn't be able to go in with Dad so she kissed my Dad good bye and told him, "I'll see you soon". He was still breathing fine, no need for oxygen. She went home and called to give us an update.
The next morning, a physician from the emergency room where my Dad was being held, (because there was no room at the inn thus far, he was admitted and treated in the emergency room makeshift ICU for 5 days before he was moved upstairs), called my Mom at home to let us know that he had been placed on a ventilator. She was shocked because, he had never needed oxygen, he had never complained of any trouble breathing, no shortness of breath, nothing. So many questions, left unanswered. What transpired in the next two weeks was a roller coaster of emotions, every phone call was either filled with hope or filled with anxiety and lulls of anguish and despair. I never prayed so much in my life, begging God for a miracle, begging him to shed light on my Dad, and begging for the strength that my Dad needed to pull himself out of this nightmare.
My Mom was home alone and dealing with the premature grief of knowing and realizing that things were grim. I couldn't leave her alone, and with concerns for my own family, I went to pick her up, not knowing whether she was also ill, would she make us sick? She ended up staying with us for a few months during my father's illness and after. She would check her temperature every morning and night, and I stayed with her in our home while my husband and kids stayed away in different parts of the house.
I would call the hospital twice a day, per my Mom's request. It was the worst part of my days. The anxiety that would build inside of me felt like a living thing that would encapsulate every corner of my being. It would be hard to breathe. A shadow from within that hovered over me. I would gather up as much information as I could from the nurses taking care of my Dad. The nurses, although clearly overworked, were full of compassion. Every time I called, you could hear it in their voices, they were breathless, tired, worn, but they were still supportive, full of hope, understanding, patient, while I asked all my questions. My list of questions that my Mom dictated to me, as a nurse, she knew exactly what to ask. I spoke with so many nurses.
As time progressed, things clearly were not going in the right direction. Physicians started to call the house, discussing DNR orders that weren't yet put in place. A cardiac arrest that happened, we still don't know whether that happened before the ventilator or after. Medication that had to be administered to control his blood pressure that was dangerously low, oxygen was always good, sugar was always high, but his kidneys began to fail because of the ventilator and he was too weak for dialysis, blood stopped clotting, his body was shutting down. I was told that it would take a miracle to save him.
After the two weeks, I felt like we were being pressured by the physicians to stop treatment because they couldn't do anything else for him. It was then that my Mom and I discussed whether we were being selfish in continuing his treatment. He was suffering and we knew full well that he did not want all of these, what he would call, unnecessary measures. We decided to let him go. I made the call, it was me, the one who's name will be forever in his file. The one who made the decision to stop treatment. It sill kills me. The doctor called to let us know of his passing and relayed to us that after they stopped the medication for his blood pressure, he passed, even though he was still on the ventilator. We realized then that the only thing keeping him alive at that point, was the medication. His heart had already given up.
I couldn't believe it. My Dad was gone. Just like that. My Mom still talks about how the worst part for her was not being able to see him at all while in the hospital. She had never left his side, ever, in their 50 years together. Every time he was ill, or in the hospital, she was there right by his side, except for this time, the most important time, his last time. It's heartbreaking.
During the aftermath of disbelief, grief, and sadness, I reflected on how I had prayed and prayed, and I begged God for a miracle. We desperately needed a miracle, that never came, so I thought. I look back and I now realize that my Dad's death was a grace from God. If he would've survived he probably would've been on a respirator, needing intense ongoing therapy. My Mom sees it everyday at the Extended Care Center where she works, all of the recovering covid patients that are not really recovering. Covid has taken everything from them, young and old alike. I believe that my Dad is in a better place, gardening, reading, spending endless days pain free, full of happiness and contentment in the greatest garden that has ever come to pass, reunited with his parents, my niece, his granddaughter, and his brothers and sisters who passed before him. Oh.. and that miracle that I prayed for, turns out we did get one. I still have my Mom. She never got sick. We don't understand why or how, but we are grateful. We did get our miracle, after all, because I could've lost both parents.
I love you Dad, and we miss you terribly.
No comments:
Post a Comment