My heart sank as soon as the phone rang at 9AM this morning. I don't know why, but I knew that it wasn't a normal phonecall. My Papa had to be rushed to the hospital because he can't breathe. My mom just left 15 minutes ago to meet her brothers and my Nana at the hospital. At the moment, I'm on babysitting duty and watching Carly. I guess my neighbor is on call though, in case I need to go up there. This really might be the end, and that sucks. I mean, there is a chance that he will bounce back. But, he told my Nana about a month or so ago that he was "fading". And I think part of the reason he has hung on for so long is because he knows how much we all love him and how much it will break our hearts if he goes. That's how selfless he is; he's been suffering through all of this for us. That's not fair to him. He shouldn't have to suffer.
[Edit]
As I was typing this, my mom called me and told me to come up to the hospital right away. I spent the longest 11 hours of my life there today. I wasn't really prepared to see what I saw when I first got there. Although he had a huge oxgyen mask attached to his face, he was struggling so hard to breathe. My Papa has got to have the strongest heart in the world. Seriously. For well over 3 hours (I don't know how long this was going on at the nursing home or what exact time he was brought in), he struggled like that. He was working so hard that he was sweating. The thing that sucked even more than that was the fact that every so often, he would try to talk to us.. and the mask that he was wearing was so damn thick that we could barely hear him. We were able to hear him say that he was thirsty and wanted juice, which he wasn't allowed to have (partly because he has a stomach bug - which is what we think set everything off min the first place. You know how sometimes you lose your breath when you're throwing up? And how that can take away a lot of you energy? Well, he gets out of breath even when he is moved slightly... so, you can only imagine how awful it was trying to breathe through that), and that he wanted to know where my dad was. That part broke my heart a little. At that point in time, he had seen my mom, Nana, my two uncles and their wives, and obviously me. My dad was the only one he hadn't seen yet (he was in Marlboro taking a class)...and it was as if he wanted to make sure he saw my dad before...well, you know...*sigh* He also told my Uncle Jim that he thought he was dying. Now, my Papa is one of the strongest, bravest men I know. No joke. But we knew that he was scared, and knowing that he was scared, scared me. I mean, of course he has known for awhile that he was going to have to go through something like this, and eventually die... but, I think the realization that that moment might be coming soon scared him. And of course anyone would feel that way. Death is scary. It's scary for the people who love you and it's scary for you, the person going through it. And he was very obviously scared of going to sleep. Even though he was exhausted, he would only shut his eyes for a few seconds, and then they would snap right open. I think he felt as though if he was awake, he could be conscious of his breathing and make sure that he was still pushing himself to breathe. If he was sleeping, he wouldn't be able to do that.
Sometime after 12, they moved him upstairs to the Critical Care Unit. Literally minutes after we got up there, we heard, "Code Nine. Code Nine" and saw doctors and nurse running into the CCU. For those of you who don't know, a "Code Nine" is when someone stops breathing. We all looked at each other and panicked. It wasn't until about an hour (my timing is probably really off at this point) later, when a Dr. came to talk to us, that we found out that it was indeed my Papa who had coded. They intubated him and did chest compressions for 45 seconds and he came to. They then put him on a ventilator. My Papa has a "Do Not Recitate" order (per him)...so if he codes again, they can't do chest compressions or shock him. I guess he had aspirated at one point and vomit went into his lungs. Because of that, he will most likely develop pneumonia. So, even if he comes out of this, he has that coming. *sigh*
We all waited out in the waiting room until they allowed us to go in and see him. He was sedated at this point, but they cautioned us not to get too upset and cry because he could still hear us. Seeing him sedated with tubes coming out of him was really scary. And honestly, it wasn't really even the tubes and machines that were frightening (I've seen Carly like that when she had her open heart surgery), it was the fact that he looked like he was dead. That was very overwhelming.
After we were all in there for awhile, we began visiting him in shifts. Because this unit is small, and because they have so many machines and they need to be constantly checking the patients' vitals and whatnot, we couldn't have more than 3 in his room at a time. Eventually, Papa started to regain some conciousnees. He was aware that we were there. His eyes would flutter open every now and then. And he would squeezes our hands every so often. Anytime a nurse came into check on him, take blood, change IVs, etc., and we had to move aside, he'd seem to get somewhat anxious. And we'd have to reassure him that we were still there. It was as if he were afraid that we were going to leave him alone, and that made me sad. I tried to talk to him a little bit, but it was hard because I had to keep fighting back tears.
At one point, when it was just me and my dad in there (I think this was around 6), Papa's eyes fluttered open and he looked right at me. I held his hand and he squeezed it twice, and I almost lost it right there. And to be honest I didn't want to let his hand go. My Nana had gone home for two hours (which he was somewhat aware of), and I think as much as he loved all of us being there with him, he really needed her. I kept reassuring him that she was on her way. When she came in, she and I switched places so she could hold his hand. As soon as she said, "Buddy, I'm here" his eyes opened a little and he gave her two squeezes. I left at this point because there were too many people in the room, but I guess as she was telling him things (like how instead of going home to rest, she said the rosary), he would squeeze her hand to show that he was listening or that he agreed.
Leaving the hospital sucked. I didn't want to leave because I don't know if I will see him again. And I'm dreading the phone ringing.
This doesn't even feel real. My Aunt Mae put it best when she said, "Doesn't it just feel like we are watching a movie?" It was like we were watching all of these things happen, and we had absolutely no control over what was going on or what the ending was going to be like.
I don't even know if anything I wrote makes sense.
Please just keep my Papa in your thoughts and prayers. And I will update you guys when I can.
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