Ambulance driver.

Over the last few months, I’ve been laying low. There was a bit of a dual purpose in this. On the one hand, things were just out of control, struggling along and trying to do everything wasn’t working. There is just a lot of maintenance and upkeep to do around here and I can’t boast of having an unending source of energy. Just picking up after someone else all the time isn’t an easy thing, especially when they try their level best to be as uncooperative as possible. Care and feeding of the EYOC is not an easy thing on its best day. Just stay out of the way and try to keep the messes to a minimum. As much trouble as a teenager can be, an aging parent is infinitely worse - they don’t quite take to being told what to do. Example: Yes, flushing the toilet each and every time after you use it isn’t a waste of water and cuts down on the overwhelming urine smell throughout the house - this is a good thing and shouldn’t start a fight but it does.

So many little idiosyncrasies, all the anger of and regret of life comes out each and every day and being the person around just means being the easiest target for it all.

Friday, was the end of a long, long week. Finally at a point where work was absolutely necessary (if only from a financial standpoint), I was glad to be working again even if I felt discomfort at not being around during the day. One thing I had been trying to find was night work if only because leaving EYOC alone while he was asleep just meant it he would be less likely to get himself into trouble - you’d think a he’d be able to do that but, it seems to grow only more difficult for him to avoid trouble.

So, after finally working through the long week, when I got to Friday I was absolutely exhausted - several days of getting up at 6:00 and getting home at 10:00 will do that to you. Especially when you’re trying to fit in all your maintenace duties around it - I swear I have much , much more respect for what some people do than ever before.

Of course, knowing that the week was winding, you had to know all hell would break loose.

Early Saturday morning after finally passing out, while in the midst of a deep sleep, I awoke to the cries of EYOC in terror. You have to understand, I’ve gotten used to the ‘night terrors,’ the moaning and wailing that occurs nightly while the EYOC is deep in dreamland. I had been worried at first but, after asking him if he was in any pain at night and then finding out he had not recollection of the incidents at all, I came to realize all that anger was just working itself out another way.

No, Saturday morning was different. I ran to the front, only to find EYOC sitting atop the top step, terrified and laboring away to catch a breath. It was the yelling that had me immediately worried - that moment when someone who walks around most of the day barely concealing their contempt actually cries out for help - it must be bad.

First thought is to get prepared in the best fireman’s fashion for the wee hour run to the hospital. Though I am many things, medical practitioner is not numbered among them and truthfully I can’t just wave my hands and do the whole healing thing. Unfortunately, once again you run into a situation where it’s a battle. A kid you would just bundle into the car and take, they wouldn’t fight you on it. Aging parent though is another story - there’s all kinds of terror involved in going to the hospital. It’s understandable though, hospitals are a lot like roach motels to the elderly, people go in but they don’t come out.

So, rather than fight and honestly hoping it was just some respiratory thing - I tried to calm him down and get him to rest since he was in such an agitated state. After finally getting back to sleep (not an easy thing mind you), I awoke in the morning to the smell of the EYOC making his daily breakfast. The assumption being that since he was back on his schedule, all was right in the world of the EYOC. Rousing myself and giving him adequate time to clear out of the kitchen (can’t get in his way don’t you know), I made myself coffee and tried to clear the cobwebs from my brain. After having sufficiently ingesting enough caffeine to be somewhat alert, I went back to check on the EYOC again only to find him seated on his bed, laboring away and gasping for air.

“I can’t catch my breath?! I just can’t get a good breath Munge.”

“Do you want to go to the hospital?”

“NO!”

“Well, what do you want me to do then?”

“You weren’t going anywhere today, right? Just stick around. Stick around for a few hours in case I do have to go to the hospital.”

“Fine.”

I waited about an hour and went back to check on him again but, he was still obviously laboring away.

“Look, you’re going!”

“No, I can’t go. If I go, that’s it!”

“C’mon, get your clothes on, we have to go.”

After much fussing and finally getting him dressed - it was off to the hospital. Trying to tease him a bit on the way to take his mind of things wasn’t working. He was scared (and I can’t say I would blame him either). Of course also during the ride I was trying to pry as much info out of him as possible to relate to the doctors after we got to the hospital. All too often, the story you get is different from the one that winds up being told to the doctors and it’s necessary to do a bit of translation. It is during the ride, I come to find out he had a very severe and acute pain in the upper left quandrant of his chest which spread down his arm. Oh, and this happened a few days ago but, he can’t remember the specific day.

Mmm, great, classic heart attack symptoms that he just somehow didn’t share, very much par for the course.

We arrive at the hospital, I pull up and have him wait in the car as I avail myself of a wheelchair, go out, collect him and wheel him into the middle of the emergency room (yes, I just bypass reception using the ambulance entrance). The people behind the office desk in emergency are somewhat agape as I wheel this elderly man into their midst and I nod at them saying, “Can you take a look at him?” an underlying sense of urgency in my voice.

The next time I see him it is about an hour and a half or so later. There is a respirator down his throat and mutiple tubes issue forth from his arms in numerous places. Above him I can very clearly read a computer screen which is all too easy to decipher as I can pick out his blood pressure is an alarming 60 over 40.

I ask if he has been sedated, seeing the respirator in his throat and knowing this is the one thing he has feared above everything else clearly remembering the agony his brother endured during a fatal fight with cancer. I am assured he is sedated enough to only vaguely remember this as a dream (which actually will later prove to be true). I stand near him as there is a flurry of activity around me all centered on him. The room is very small. I myself have been in this emergency room in the past, it does not bring back fond memories but, they are not especially bad memories either.

A cardiologist begins a conversation about EYOC’s condition at his bedside as I try to move backward in an effort to get doctor to follow me into the hall and out of potential earshot. I am quoted very dire mortality statistics for patients in this age range and with similar maladies. This is confirmed by two other doctors in attendance, they stare gravely at the monitor displaying lifesigns and they... are... not... smiling.

Time passes and he is stablized and moved to the ICU. During the ride he is off the sedative and I am holding his hand and gently stroking his forehead. It is so very odd, more often than not I am being yelled at, cursed or derided by the frail figure before me. I have weathered all his anger and I am standing beside him trying to keep him from being afraid. I find myself consumed by emotion, the only chance I have to comfortably show it is during a short time when I am alone in the ER with him and one of the orderlies has respectfully pulled the curtains so I can have a bit of privacy to sob.

I can honestly say it was one of the longest and most stressful days in recent memory. Of course, it wasn’t complete until I had to deal with the second guessing of the missing-in-action sibling. Got to love those who don’t do the work but want all the credit. There never seems to be a shortage of people like that. Fortunately, on the flip side, there are other family members who never cease to amaze with their support - and they were there when I needed them. So, I’m lucky nonetheless.