So Scared

Well, our week just got better.  Of course, if I was talking to you in person, you’d be able to hear the sarcasm in my voice.  The sarcasm and the fear.

At about 10:30 tonight, my phone at work rang and when I looked at the caller ID, my heart immediately sank into my feet.  It was my mom’s cell phone.

1. My mom is usually in bed by 7 or 8 pm.
2. My mom hates to call my work number because she has to go through an automated system.
3. If she was calling that late, she’d call from home.

So, I obviously knew something was wrong.  This belief was reinforced when I heard her voice.  My thoughts immediately flashed back to a day in February six years ago when I received another call from her at a crazy hour in which she was crying.  That was the day my brother died.

This time, she said that an ambulance was taking my dad to the hospital.  I told her I would meet her there and would get there as soon as I could.  I hung up and packed up everything at work as quickly as I could – I hope I got the rest of my work squared away okay since I barely remember what I did and I shut everything down so quickly.

Somehow, I got my desk cleared up, signed myself out and drove the approx. 10 miles to the hospital in 15 minutes.  It’s kind of a blur now.  I know that I cried most of the way.  I was so scared that we were going to lose him this time.

By the time I got to the hospital, they had finally gotten the seizures to stop (for those who don’t know, my dad has chronic, uncontrollable epilepsy).  I learned from my mom that he had had seizures consistently from about 3:30 this afternoon until I got to the hospital.  That’s 7 hours at least.  At certain points over the course of the afternoon, my mom said that he was unable to tell her his name or where he lived.  When he finally got his name right, he kept telling her that he lived in the city where he grew up (which is in another state).

I have to say that I am seriously unimpressed with the ER doctor that checked him out.  I could tell from the four minutes that I saw him (probably less than that) that he had a horrible bedside manner.  My mom said that he had been like that the entire time that he talked to her.  He seemed completely unconcerned and completely cavalier about making sure that my dad was okay.  Of course, he had to throw in a couple of jokes about how my dad’s medical chart was a bit longer than most people’s.

All they did was give him something to stop the seizures, draw blood, let him lay there for about an hour and then ask my mom if she felt comfortable taking him home.  My mom decided that with that kind of care, she could take care of him better herself at home now that the seizures had stopped.

The nurses seemed fascinated with his history and the fact that no medications truly seem to help him.  I firmly believe, though, that without the medications he’s taken all of these years, he would have left us long ago.  They also seemed interested in the fact that it wasn’t genetic and that neither my brother nor I ended up with it.

So that was my evening.  I got off work an hour and a half early, but I wish that it had been under better circumstances.  I am relieved that while he still seems a bit out of it, he seems to be doing better.  I think he’s finally sleeping now.

My poor parents.  Just sitting in the hospital room watching them tore at my heart.  My mom was sitting next to the bed, with her chin resting on the metal arm rail, looking up at him.  As she held his hand and tried to get him to relax, he stroked her hand with his thumb. They’ve both been through so much.  They deserve better.

I, myself, am now completely wiped and foresee an early bedtime…