Heartbroke hotel

As some of you know, my dad had a heart attack on Monday morning and bypass surgery on Friday. It ended up being a quadruple bypass instead of a quintuple, but that doesn't really make the recovery that much easier. After all, the doctors crack your sternum open and pretty much take your heart out of your chest before they stitch the leg veins into your normal blood pathways. Big ouch. That pillow is so he doesn't put too much pressure on any particular part of his chest, because with the pectorals having been through all that pain, it's hard to do much with your arms besides tuck them up on your chest. He is able, however, to scratch his head and put a little pillow behind him.

I am posting some pictures because I know how hard it is when you care about someone to not be able to see what their situation is. I was not in very good shape for a few days while I was still in Tacoma, but Doug sent me an email with some pics he'd taken of dad in the hospital and the big "unknowing" was lifted a bit. It helps to see to believe, you know?

There are a lot of good things about the circumstances of this heart attack. Number one is it didn't happen in Guatemala, where he was 24 hours earlier, nor in Dallas-Ft. Worth airport, where he was 12 hours earlier, nor on the road to Little Rock from DFW. Number two is mom is on-point and he took an aspirin. True, the fact that he's quite healthy and young (as far as these things go), was depressing and scary. It's been a real wake-up call for him and Mom, which also is not wholly a bad thing.

Dad has a really good attitude about healing up and he's enjoying his nurses and the respiratory therapist and everyone else at UAMS hospital. He's not a negative person or a racist, which I wonder if that is not a trait that is the bane of the extremely diverse hospital staff, what with it being in Arkansas. He does what they tell him, like blow in this little tube and try and get an air bladder up to 2,000 somethings. It's about three inches from the bottom of the thing, and which he told Dannette, his respiratory therapist, was to get air into his "alluvial sacs," duly impressing her. "I usually just say air sacs for most patients," Dannette said. Anyway, Dad's real social and a people person so he's all chatty with the nurses, even if he doesn't have the strongest voice at the moment. He has to work extra hard to get the words out, so he sounds a little quiet and strained.



Doug and Dad.

Dad sat up for several hours today, which is a big change for him. He is usually lying down on the bed — which is not that bad. It's pretty squishy, as I found out when I plopped on it while he was sitting, and he said it was the most comfortable of the three he has been on. He's got wires hooked up all over and tubes and whatnot. He has a couple of tubes coming out of his neck area that Monique, one of his nurses, injects with heaven knows what. He had about four injections while Doug and I were there and that didn't include an IV drip and albumin to do something for his veins. He also has stuff coming out of him — a catheter and a wound sucker (yes, that's the technical term) — and a Mr. Thirsty, like from the dentist, and all three hold their respective fluids, which I guess the staff is used to and thank goodness Dad is fairly shameless about it from the pain meds and the gratefulness for being alive. To me the collection of fluids reminds me of the early medical practice of checking the humors.

Dad hasn't been on a lot of pain medication because his tolerance for pain has skyrocketed since The Kidney Stone at Meegan's Wedding incident. We are encouraging him to not dismiss pain levels of 6/7 just because he can. Dannette and Monique told him it might hinder healing and his breathing.

Doug has been so good to Dad and Mom. He is a real rock, and you can tell from this picture that he's such a good-lookin' young man. We did a crossword puzzle with dad. Talked politics. He got a call from a college friend of mom's. Last night when I saw him (for the first time) he really wanted to watch "The Daily Show" with us, but alas, it was Saturday.

I want to give a special shout-out to Kaye for taking care of Shelby, the 14-year-old Jack Russell, while Mom couldn't cope. I picked him up and he was getting along great with her feisty little Pomeranian and six cats. It's because he's old. I brought him home and he sniffed everything inside and out (I guess to check that no other animals had been here in his absence) and has been sacking out in his usual pillow. His being here will raise Mom's spirits a lot, I am sure.

Although Doug was horrified that I brought in a camera (and proceeded to document the transfer to the chair, which is kind of revealing with the gown and all, but particularly invasive for the sort of vulnerability it captures of a man depending on two women to get him up and about) I'm used to talking to people about/at their worst moments and generally being nosy (I'm also used to respecting the dignity of my sources, however. Well, except a few and that's because they don't have any).

Well, that's the update for now. Tune in for more pictures and milestones as they become available.