It was National Health Care Worker Week, and Dad decided to
test the system. I flew in from Seattle, arriving to set up a spaghetti lunch
in the hallway, per our usual routine. He got up from his recliner, lost his
balance and went down on the floor head first. I heard the clunk. I was calm,
he was mellow, we commented about how men should always swoon in my presence. The
aides appeared, the paramedics arrived. I figured his time was up. This was
going to be the final chapter – broken bones, stroke, coma, find the organ donor
form. Real time advocacy. I followed the ambulance to the ER – again. I know
the way.
I forgot that my father has 9 lives just like a cat; I’ve
personally saved 3 of them. I think this was episode #5. Scripps Hospital gives
him frequent user perks. The CT scan, x-rays, and lab panels were all done quickly
by caring professionals. He was discharged in a few hours. Nothing was wrong
except a urinary tract infection, common in the elderly (which might explain
why he’s wobbly). Me to Dad: “have you noticed any pain when you pee?” Dad to
me: “oh that? Sure. I don’t bother mentioning these things, I’m just happy to
get a shower.”
I won’t pretend all is fine. My father scared the shit out
of me. Along with his issues I’ve been juggling clients with mental health
crises, dental bills and brain cancer. I’m regularly on hold with insurance companies
and mostly bang my head in frustration. But - apparently I have a thick skull
just like Dad. He bounces back from trauma, I create billable hours from it.
While chowing down his non-kosher grilled shrimp and bacon
salad today (because lettuce is healthy), a nurse stopped by to compliment his
VIP treatment. Dad beamed: “Yes. I’m a VIP when my daughter is here. I’m a Vogel in
Paradise.” How’s that for validation?
