Lessons

Throughout 2010 I've kept a bullet pointed list of things God has taught me (or is at least trying to teach me) this year. As tomorrow I plan to post my 2011 resolutions, I'm posting my list of 2010 lessons tonight.

• To simplify and be a good steward of what he’s given me. I've always been anal but this year I started getting more intentional about keeping the house clean. I started out 2010 by de-cluttering the house, and I've kept it void of clutter all year. I also started doing a "deep clean" of one room a week, so that throughout the course of the month the whole house gets deep cleaned. This helps keep the fridge clean (scrubbed out), closets organized, and clutter from forming.
  
• To slow down. I blogged about this a while back, one day when I stopped to take a deep breath and enjoy a beautiful day. And I realized that was something I need to do a lot more.
• To BE PRESENT. This is something I wrote in the front of my planner at the beginning of 2010. It struck me during a church service (I believe wholly unrelated to the sermon) and it became my motto for the year. I do so much where I'm doing one thing, but thinking of 50 million other things. I think this is common, especially among women. But I really made an effort this year to be present. If I'm talking to someone, to be fully engaged, not planning my evening to-do list. I've got work to do, but I've definitely come a long way.
  
• To see the best in everything and not complain about what I can’t change. This falls into the category of "God is trying to teach me." It's definitely a work in progress. But I've noticed over the past couple years that I've started complaining a lot more and developing a more cynical spirit. I'd like to see the best and when I see a problem, take on the attitude that I can either do something to try to fix it, or accept it. Nothing else is helpful.
  
• Patience. OK, so I wrote this on the list and I have no context for why. Probably falls into the "God is trying to teach me" category...
  
• Courage/Adventure. I've never been an adventurer, but Ali Fedotowsky taught me something. And there was the life-transforming team retreat I went on for work. And that's not all. I ventured a try at public speaking back in April, and it went really well! I started trying to say yes to more things if they were opportunities to grow...even if they were scary. (Pre-Blogger blog about that here: http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=313730596332)
  
• Not to gossip. I've been convicted by this in the later part of this year. I gossip. It needs to stop.
  
• Better relationship with Dad. December 1 was a huge wake-up call. My dad almost died. And basically all of my blogs from December focus on that journey. But the one thing that I'm definitely taking away is to value my Dad more. Even though I live far away, I want to spend more time with him via Skype or phone. I don't give him nearly the time I should.
  

Life

As I sat in the waiting room over the past couple of weeks, a lot of people came to visit us and bring us food. And each of them had stories to tell of how my Dad had touched their lives. He's made a huge impact. And obviously, God isn't done with him.

Even though he feels a little down right now, stuck in the ICU with limited physical ability, he's making a difference. Even when he was in an induced coma, he was touching lives. You see, my Dad loves music. So we brought in a CD player and were playing some Christian music for him while he slept.

And one of his nurses came in after he'd woken up and said after taking care of him, she'd had one of those songs stuck in her head all weekend. And she decided to start listening to Christian music - and it wasn't so bad. She's going to keep listening. Who knows, maybe one of those lyrics will strike a chord in her heart someday, and she'll decide she needs Jesus.

You don't have to be concious to touch lives. And it's so fitting that even when he wasn't awake, my Dad was able to use music to reach out to someone.

Leaving

I'm sitting at Logan International Airport, waiting for my 6:15 flight back to Denver. And as I sit I feel emotionally torn. On the one hand, I'm excited to go back home; to wear something other than the 5 outfits I brought for what ended up being a 12 day trip (don't worry, I did laundry); to see my husband and my puppies; to go back to work.

On the other hand, I'm already struggling with the fact that I had to leave my Dad. I've changed my flight three times after the original booking, originally planning to fly home last Monday, then last Tuesday, then Sunday, and finally today. And each time a flight approached, I felt like I needed more time. I needed to be there when Dad woke up. And then I needed to be there to help take care of him.

And that feeling was no different today. But I'd talked to a Southwest manager to negotiate a better rate for today's flight, and I have something I need to be at work for tomorrow, and I knew I couldn't stay forever. There'd always be a reason I felt like I needed to stay...even when Dad is released he's going to need a lot of care. So I knew it was time to go home, even if it was hard to leave my Dad.

I tried to be strong when I said goodbye to my Dad. He's already feeling really emotional, I didn't want to add to it. I managed to hold back the tears just long enough, and then when I turned around they started falling. And even as I checked in at the airport and went through security, I couldn't hold in my tears. I love living in Colorado, but it's so hard to be so far away from family at times like this.

Now that my Dad's awake, I'm hoping I can Skype with him. He'll probably be hard to understand but maybe if someone is there to translate that will help. And in the mean time, I'm so glad I got to come out and spend time with him. I'll always treasure the time I got to spend helping him and sitting by him over the last week and a half.

Dad

I sent this out to my co-workers, and I thought it would be a good blog about Dad's recent progress. This way you can laugh at all the funny things he's been saying.

Dad got the ventilator tubes out on Friday, which was huge. "Those were the whole problem!" Dad said. He couldn't talk much that day until the evening, but since then he's been making jokes and cracking us up. He's usually a jokester but he's pretty uninhibited right now so it's especially funny. Today when the nurses told him he looked good he said, "You need to work on your taste if you think I look good!" He's also been asking for a body transplant. Preferably Matt Damon. "That guy can do anything!"

He was pretty paranoid about the hospital staff (AKA the "manhandlers" or the "barbarians") for a bit. He said they kick us out so they can beat him up without any witnesses. "I could go to Boston and get treated like this for free!" He's in need of pretty constant care and since they can't be in his room all the time, he doesn't think they're taking good care of him. "They just think I'm a pain in the neck."

Today's nurse (a man) gave him several popsicles, which was exciting. He's not ready to eat real food until they make sure he can swallow. But he's been asking for pizza, scrambled eggs, and Sierra Mist pretty regularly since Friday, and said, "I wouldn't recommend this place to anyone requiring a meal." Today a nurse walked right past his room with pizza. I was hoping he wouldn't notice but she stopped at the counter right in front of his door. He goes, "Man, that looks good. When are they going to bring me some?!" And when his nurse said he was going to lunch, Dad responded, "Well don't rub it in!" And you sure don't realize how many food commercials there are until you're trying to avoid anything that would remind your Dad how hungry he is.

I stayed here overnight on Saturday night, so I was in and out of his room and only got 1-2 hours of sleep at a time, for 4-5 periods of sleep. Not a great rest. But last night he was calling out for me, and I felt bad I wasn't there. He said today, "I'm sure going to miss you when you leave. You're my best caretaker!"

I'm flying home on Tuesday evening now, so I'll be back on Wednesday. I had to call Southwest and negotiate because it was going to be $250 more for a ticket then. They gave me a good deal. My dad, the master negotiator, was so delighted when he heard that. Really made him proud.

When I was a kid (well, pre-teenish), I used to draw this cartoon dog, Sparky. One of the first things Dad said to me Friday night was, "I want you to promise me that you'll draw a dog." I was pretty confused and I was reminding him I have two dogs. He shook his head. Then I was like, "OH! Do you mean Sparky?" He nodded so vigorously and his eyes lit up. "Yeah! THAT dog!" So I started to get out a pen and paper and he said, "No, for publication. But remember me when you're famous." If I am ever famous, I highly doubt it will be for my art skills.

At the beginning we were worried about brain damage from the tear on the artery going to his brain. But he's showing no signs of brain damage at all. He's remembering current things (like what the special event for Sunday was at his church), and lots of memories from when we were kids. He can't talk very loudly because his throat is sore from the ventilator, but other than that he talks fine. And he can move a little bit more each day so we're not worried about paralysis. He's even solving Sudokus! (But we have to write the numbers in, he doesn't have the dexterity yet to hold a pen.)

The "swallow and spit" doctor is coming in today to check how he's doing with those skills. If that goes well maybe he can get some soup or Jello or something. They've been giving him something that looks like chocolate milk through a feeding tube. "This is the slowest chocolate milk I've ever had!" He kept calling it chocolate milk, so we started calling it that. But now when we say it he shakes his head and goes, "That stuff's terrible! Turns out it's not chocolate milk at all! I wouldn't buy THAT unless you have to."

So prayers would be for things to go well with the swallow & spit doctor so he can get some real food, for him to keep gaining strength so he can go to a normal room and walk to the bathroom, for him to sleep well at night so he doesn't miss us, and for him to be OK when I leave.

Crying

Tonight when we went to leave a goodnight note for my sleeping dad, there was a girl sobbing outside of the surgical ICU. She was on the phone with someone saying, "It's my mom! There's nothing they can do! My mom!"

I walked away from that crying. And then laughing at myself for crying about someone I didn't even know. It was this weird combo of cracking up laughing and sad crying. Because it just brought to mind how close I came to that being me and my dad. It's the first time I've seen bad news delivered in the 10 days I've been at the hospital, and it made me realize once again how close I came to losing my Dad.

He says things like "I should have just stayed home that day" (he would have died, rather than having someone at work call 911 like they did). He's uncomfortable and this hospital thing seems so long to him. I get that. But I'm so grateful that he went to work, that God had his hand on him, that I'm able to talk and joke and hear his voice.

Thank you, God, for keeping my Dad alive.

My Real Dad

When I was in 7th or 8th grade, my parents and I went to my sister's cross country meet. Since there wasn't much to watch (they were running through the woods), my parents and I went on a walk through the woods. And during our walk, I had the idea to give them each a unique stone so that if anyone tried to impersonate them and I wasn't sure if it was my real mom or dad, it wouldn't work. Only my real mom and dad would know to show me their stone as evidence of their identity.

Just before my wedding, Dad pulled out that same stone, over 10 years later. He had it in his tux pocket and showed it to me, saying, "This is how you know it's your real dad walking you down the aisle." I got all teary (and I'd just done my make-up!), and it was a really sweet moment.

A few hours ago when I went in to see Dad, he said, "My stone is in my pocket. My stone. So you know I'm your real dad." And then he started tearing up some. Seeing as he's in a hospital gown and doesn't have pockets, and couldn't show me the stone, I told him I knew he was my real Dad because he was telling all my Dad's jokes.

And boy am I glad to have my real Dad around.

Waiting

The idea of a "waiting room" is a difficult thing for me. It's hard because every night before I leave, I pray for specific things for my dad. Like on Monday night I prayed that he could get off the ventilator quickly and safely. And last night I prayed that Dad would have a peaceful and restful night.

But Tuesday when I came in he was doing worse on the ventilator, and today I found out that he got really agitated during the night. It's hard when you see those prayers not being answered. But the important thing is that God has been answering the BIG prayer so far: that Dad would survive the surgery and would recover and live a long time more. And ultimately, a few more days on the ventilator or a rough night seems hard at the time but it's not the end of the world. As long as Dad gets better, I'm happy with that. I need to be OK with waiting for him to keep making steps.

The other thing is that I don't like to sit by idly when there's a problem. I like to do things. When I went in to see Dad this morning I changed his CD, and got out the chair, and checked all his numbers, and felt like I was doing something. Or when I went to his trailer, I vacuumed and folded his pajamas and did the dishes. But then just sitting there...realizing that there's nothing I can do...that's hard.

Not that changing his CD or vacuuming his rug is really going to help him get better. But at least I feel like I'm doing something for him, to take care of him. Sitting here in the waiting room or even with him holding his hand, I feel so helpless.

But ultimately I need to remember that holding his hand is doing something important, and being here and being available is important too. It's like the woman who came to visit me here last night (when no one in my family was here). What I needed was for her to be here so I could get up to go see my Dad or go to the bathroom or whatever, without my stuff being unattended. And I needed to get some work done. (And I needed dinner and a donut. Like, really needed a donut.)

And while it may have felt to her like she was just sitting there doing nothing (until she helped with the dinner and donut problem), she was the most helpful visitor of all. She gave me the freedom to be on my computer and not have to feel the obligation to entertain a guest while in the midst of this crisis. Some people need to talk it out...I need to not feel like I have to get to know new people right now. Extroversion for me takes effort and work, and I already feel so drained.

So maybe like her, the best thing I can do is just sit and be here. Even if it feels like I'm not doing anything.

Hard

Yesterday was a really hard day for me. It felt like Dad was making backwards progress...he'd been getting less support from the ventilator over the weekend, and they upped it again yesterday. They'd woken him up some on Sunday, and they were increasing his sedatives yesterday. I started to get scared that he wasn't going to get better.

And then last night I stayed at his trailer instead of at my sister's house, where I'd been so far. It was nice to be on a bed instead of a couch, and nice not to wake up to a three-year old telling me I needed to get up at 6:30 (though he sure is fun to play with)...but it was REALLY hard for me to be in my dad's home, sleeping in his bed. It made it all seem so final to me. Like here I was, taking his place.

Tonight I'm back at my sister's, after a day where Dad made some progress in the right direction again. It's not much, but the hospital staff doesn't seem concerned at the slow progress. It was a major surgery...today they made a bypass sound like minor surgery compared with what my Dad had. So I guess when I look at it that way, he's doing pretty well.

Tomorrow I'm probably going to be sleeping at the trailer again, so we'll see how that goes. Please keep praying for my dad, but pray for me too, that I'll have peace if I sleep at the trailer again.

Surreal

If you haven't been following my status updates, on Wednesday my Dad went to the hospital with chest pains. Within a few hours, they were rushing him in for emergency heart surgery after discovering he had a dissected aorta. And my family, including my Dad, is all out in the Boston area. There I was in Denver, worrying and not knowing what to do.

The days since then have been a whirlwind and at the same time it's felt like it's been so much longer than 3 days. On Thursday I made the decision to fly to Boston and visit with my dad (flew out Friday). I realized that if I didn't come and this ended up being my last chance to see him, I'd always regret that. But if I came and all was well, I'd never regret having come anyway and being with my dad during this time.

I had no idea what it would be like when I saw my dad lying in the hospital bed. I'd been pre-warned that he was kind of puffy-looking from the surgery, and that he was hooked up to all sorts of stuff, but actually seeing him made everything real. I'd wondered if I'd just burst into tears when I saw him, but I didn't. It just finally hit me like a wave. That was really my dad lying there. I've never been to visit someone in the hospital, except when they've just had a baby. So the idea that I had really dropped everything to fly across the country and see my dad in the ICU hadn't really struck me fully until that moment.

I have a whole mix of emotions right now. Sometimes I find myself tearing up at how close we came to losing him. And at the risks that still loom. I talked to him on the phone just Monday and I cut the conversation short because I really had to use the bathroom. I've thought about that as I sat with him, thinking how much I would have always regretted that if he hadn't made it.

But I'm also so thankful. So many things were just great evidence of God's hand of blessing over my dad. A dissected aorta is often not caught in time - my sister said one of the doctor's told my family it's usually found in autopsy. I'm so thankful for everything God worked together to make sure my dad got to the hospital, that the right tests were run, that the doctor's had wisdom, and that a skilled surgeon performed the very difficult surgery on him.

There are still risks. He's still mostly sedated, though he periodically opens his eyes now as they're lessening the sedation. They're going to keep him like that until they're confident he's doing well enough to be awake, so hopefully he'll continue to recover well. The next month or two will be a long recovery period for him. But each day that he makes it, the risks decrease. So each day I feel a little better. Today it was really neat to have him look at me, even though he was super groggy and I don't know how much he's processing.

And there are still parts of this that feel so surreal. I don't see my family very much, just once every two years, so I'm used to not hanging out with my dad. Part of me still feels like I'm just not really here, and so it's not unusual to not be interacting in a lively way with him.

I've never been on the receiving end of people making meals, so that's weird for me. It's kind of uncomfortable, since I'm so picky, but there's a cafeteria at the hospital so I always have a back-up option. And I appreciate the outpouring of love and generosity from my dad's church family. Everyone who comes in talks about how special he is, and tells a story about how he touched their lives. It's neat to hear what an impact my dad has made.

I'm a plan-ahead type of person, so this is kind of weird for me. Flying out here, I at least had an 18 or-so hour window to plan, make sure I had everything, tie up loose ends at home, etc. But flying back...well I don't know when I'll fly back. I had a ticket booked for Monday and have changed it to Tuesday, but I may extend if further, depending on how my dad is doing. I feel bad leaving work right in the thick of things, but the hospital has WiFi and I brought some work with me, so I'm using the down time in the waiting room to keep caught up. It's just weird to be away from home and not know when I'm going back.

I'm so thankful to everyone who has been praying for my dad. God has been listening, so keep praying!