Gail is a neighbor of my dad's. She and her husband, Steen, have lived next door to him in Oak Bay for about 20 years. A retired Air Force doctor, she has regarded him as a father to her and has kept an eye on him for his health and general wellbeing. She and I get along great, but when she phones me, it's rarely to say "how's it goin'?"
The Monday afternoon phone call was no exception.
"Andy's been taken to hospital," she said. "The ambulance came and the paramedics began 'cardiac protocol' and then took him. He's in the cardiac care unit."
Dad is not a candidate for a heart attack. He'll be 88 in January, but has always been fit, swimming about 500 metres 3 times a week, walking, riding his bike until he broke a hip in 2006, and gardening and keeping bees in his back yard. If it could happen to him ......
And so has begun an experience that I really hadn't expected -- or at least, had tried to deny: dealing with an elderly parent who's now confronting the fact that he's not as fit and strong as he once was ... and trying to suppress one's own emotions, in order to make sure all the "fine points" -- will, Power of Attorney, bills and other "paperwork" -- are dealt with so that the parent doesn't have to worry about that.
And while I've felt alone in this over the past two months, I know I'm not alone. Others have gone through it. I hope you will comment and/or share experiences you've had, and maybe we can help one another.
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August 24 was busy, as I had to pick up my mother-in-law from the airport. The first thing I greeted her with was the news that Andy was back in the hospital. The last time she came to Vancouver, dad landed in hospital with a broken hip after falling at home. Susan was now starting to think she had something to do with these mishaps.
That night, I spoke to the nursing staff at Royal Jubilee Hospital. The signs were not good.
"Look," I said, "dad has always been active: gardens, keeps bees, swims 500 metres 3 times a week. The phrase 'candidate for a heart attack' does not come to mind."
"I know," she said. "But he's - what - 87. When you get that old, if you're not in an accident or don't get sick two things will get you: your heart or a stroke. You can build up a lot of plaque in your arteries over 87 years, even if you do everything right. That's what happened here."
(I flashed in that instant on some of dad's eating habits. Large chunks of cheese in a sandwich; extra butter (or margarine) on the side of a fried egg; half-and-half cream (10% m.f.) on his cereal: mom told me once that dad "needed to have additional fat in his diet" -- probably a cover story she made up to keep me from going down that path -- maybe the constriction of the arteries wasn't such a mystery, after all.)
"How's it looking?"
"You'd better get over here."
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What follows is largely a series of emails I sent to a group of people who I figured would be interested: friends of dad's and friends of mine from work and church, primarily. People who would want to know and people who would pray for Amelia and me -- and my kids -- as we went through this.
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