There's life, Jim, but not as we know it...
Kiara woke up at 6:30 this morning (her third waking during the night). I got up with her and went to lay on the pouf with her, hoping we'd both get a few more hours of rest. We both drifted off almost immediately.
Next thing I know, I'm hearing a loud vibration. I'd left my cell phone (on vibrate) on the pouf last night and now it was ringing. I grabbed it before it would rouse Kiara and blearily looked. The caller ID read "Dad".
Vox 1: W.T.F? Why is my dad calling?
Voxes 2 - infinity: *sleepy grumbles* Let the voice mail get it and call him back in a few hours.
This sounded like a good plan to all but the one Vox of dissent. So, I closed my eyes again and left my phone in my hand to muffle the vibration that would alert me of a voice mail.
And then...
Vox 1: But... seriously... this isn't cool. Why would Dad call us at 7:40 AM on a Sunday? Something's wrong with Gramma.
Voxes 2-infinity: *sleepy grumbles* What the hell? First of all, you can't fucking see a clock, they're not within your vision and your eyes are closed. How the hell do you know Dad called at 7:40am? You don't. Secondly, it could've been anything. He could've forgotten that you guys are 3 hours behind Indiana. He could've just called to say hi. You have know way of knowing --
Vox 1: Something is wrong. Something's wrong with Gramma. I know it. I'm going to listen to that voicemail and it will be a very sober-voiced Dad saying, "It's your dad, something's wrong...."
Voxes 2-infinty: What you'll hear is your dad's normal voice saying "Hey, it's your dad, just called to see how you guys were doing."
Vox 1: No. Something. is. wrong.
Voxes 2-infinity: FINE! Listen to the damn message, but turn it down so Kiara doesn't wake up.
I flipped open the phone and willed my eyes to do the same. The readout of the phone display said "1 missed call"... at exactly 7:40am.
Voxes 2-infinity: Oh shit.
"Hey, it's your dad," said a very sober voice, "Gramma's been in an accident. Well, so has Grampa, but he's okay. Gramma's not doing good. She has a severe brain injury..."
Tears. Lots of tears.
"...had a seizure in the car, Grampa pulled over to try to get her okay..."
Shaking.
"...passed out and they both rolled down the hill..."
I finished listening to the message and cried.
Vox 1: I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. I should've gone home sooner.
Vox 18: Oh god, should I wake up Sean?
Vox 8: *numb*
Vox 987: ....buddies, pals and friends forever...
Vox 172: If I fly out there tomorrow, will I make it. I'll take Kiara and Sean can meet up later. Stay at Dad's house...
Vox 1: I knew it. I knew it.
Vox 987: ...buddies, pals and friends forever...
Vox 5: She never met Kiara. Her first great-grandchild.
And on and on... for about 20 minutes. I got up (waking Kiara in the process) and called Dad.
What happened...
Gramma and Grandpa were going to (or coming from... I can't remember, it's not important) my Aunt Debbie's house for the standard lawn maintenance etc that my Grandpa does on Saturday. It also happened to be Debbie's birthday, so Grandpa took Gramma along. (You see my Gramma had a stroke in '99 and hasn't been the same since. Can't do for herself. She was also pretty sick late last year/early this year. She had a trach and now breathes through a ventilator in her throat. She's been deteriorating since. But sometimes my Grandpa would leave her home to rest on these jaunts.) While in the car, my Grandma just slumped over and fell out of her seat. (Doctors think this was caused by a seizure, or lack of oxygen to the brain due to a clogged ventilator... or a combo of both.) Grandpa pulled over to the side of the road and tried to get her back in her seat, get her back to normal.
"Don't pass out on me or we both go down this hill," he said to her.
She passed out. They both went down the hill. She fell 10 feet or so, Grandpa fell 20. (Miraculously, not a mark on him. Perfectly fine.) She lost conciousness. Stopped breathing. Grandpa started CPR and cars kept going by. Finally, a trucker stopped in the middle of the lane and got out. Gave Grandpa a cell phone to call 911. He stayed until EMTs arrived and left. Grandpa never got a name or a truck line. Nothing. EMT's got her heart beating and lungs pumping... took her to the hospital.
She has severe brain injury... beyond that I can't tell you. She's had swelling for months, doctors say, and she's been losing cells regularly. She also went without oxygen yesterday for approximately 15 minutes. Somehow, she's not braindead. She's only mostly braindead (c'mon, folks, it's a joke!... read it like Billy Crystal). After an EEG this morning they determined that she has some brain activity but it is very minimal. Her pupils are fixed and unresponsive. A CAT Scan this afternoon came back "inconclusive". But, doctors have said that if she ever regains conciousness she will be in a vegetative state for the rest of her life. She most likely wouldn't be able to walk, speak or even recognize any of us.
All of the above information was gleened over multiple phone calls throughout the day. That's the info as I have it right now.
After the first call to Dad, I called my Mom. I told her the situation. I woke up Sean soon after, telling him, "My grandma is dying."
Other calls with Dad would let me in on the state of the family. Most everyone is resigned to the facts of things. My Grandma either didn't have a living will or Grandpa is now Power of Attorney, because they Do Not Recussitate order has been discussed. He's going to sign it. If she crashes, they will not make any attempt to revive her. The other topic at hand... pulling the plug. Right now she's on machines and "holding her own", but without them... *shrugs*. Grandpa has come to the very sober realization that any existence she'd have from here on out would not be quality. It wouldn't be a life. Nor would his. Last night was the first good sleep he has gotten for months... possibly years. It's best for both of them to let her go now. Peacefully.
Besides, he knows what most of us have come to grips with: She's gone. The woman we know will never sit at our table again... not even the woman she was last week. She's gone and she's not going to pull through this. She's not going to come back and fight with us. And the loving thing to do... the way to take care of her, is to do what she would have wanted and let her go.
I say "almost all of us" because from what my Dad says, my Aunt Debbie is the one who's still got a slight idea that she'll pull through. Debbie still has hope. Foolish or otherwise, it's not for me to say. But who can really blame her?
As of now, the word is that decisions will be made tomorrow. Everyone's going to get sleep and get their heads in the right place(s).
Plans are already on the table to get me, Sean and Kiara out there somehow. I can't begin to express the guilt I feel about never having gone home before now. She missed me, we're finding a way to get out there now only when it's too late for her to be in the same room with her oldest grandchild and her first great-grandchild. She won't meet Sean. Oh, that's the other thing... she has a Staph infection, so I wouldn't be taking Kiara into the room with her. I had wanted (if possible) to go home and just take Kiara up there so Grandma could hear her or possible sense her...mayber her spirit or whatever would see us all for the first and last time... maybe. I don't know, but that's not possible now. Not with a Staph infection.
I don't know when we're going, only that we are. Not sure exactly how, but Dad has said he'd help and also rent us a car. We're staying with him. While we're there, I'm visiting my mom's family, my other gramma. I'm not going to be there and NOT get a chance to see people and tell them I love them. It's all I've wanted to do for months now, and dammit, if the only thing getting me back there is a funeral....
... you get the idea.
I have lots of emotions I want to go into right now. Lots of thoughts I want to put into the penseive that is my blog.
But I can't. It's time for dinner. Friends are coming by and I would like to stop crying before they arrive.
I will say this. Sean has been amazing today. There aren't words to express the magnitude of support and comfort. He's let me cry when I needed to, made me laugh when I needed to and has helped me with Kiara while I've been on the phone with my parents at various times. He's let me just randomly inject things about the situation, about my memories with gramma... about whatever comes trickling from my brain. Because it's full. So full of thoughts, memories, guilt, sadness, relief, nervousness about seeing my family again in this situation, excitement to know I'm going home soon (even if it is such a morbid journey)... and more that I can't even put to words or quanitfy, some not possible to rationalize.
I'm okay. But I'm not okay. I'm fragile. I'm sad. I'm sorry.
Yeah...
dinner.
Next thing I know, I'm hearing a loud vibration. I'd left my cell phone (on vibrate) on the pouf last night and now it was ringing. I grabbed it before it would rouse Kiara and blearily looked. The caller ID read "Dad".
Vox 1: W.T.F? Why is my dad calling?
Voxes 2 - infinity: *sleepy grumbles* Let the voice mail get it and call him back in a few hours.
This sounded like a good plan to all but the one Vox of dissent. So, I closed my eyes again and left my phone in my hand to muffle the vibration that would alert me of a voice mail.
And then...
Vox 1: But... seriously... this isn't cool. Why would Dad call us at 7:40 AM on a Sunday? Something's wrong with Gramma.
Voxes 2-infinity: *sleepy grumbles* What the hell? First of all, you can't fucking see a clock, they're not within your vision and your eyes are closed. How the hell do you know Dad called at 7:40am? You don't. Secondly, it could've been anything. He could've forgotten that you guys are 3 hours behind Indiana. He could've just called to say hi. You have know way of knowing --
Vox 1: Something is wrong. Something's wrong with Gramma. I know it. I'm going to listen to that voicemail and it will be a very sober-voiced Dad saying, "It's your dad, something's wrong...."
Voxes 2-infinty: What you'll hear is your dad's normal voice saying "Hey, it's your dad, just called to see how you guys were doing."
Vox 1: No. Something. is. wrong.
Voxes 2-infinity: FINE! Listen to the damn message, but turn it down so Kiara doesn't wake up.
I flipped open the phone and willed my eyes to do the same. The readout of the phone display said "1 missed call"... at exactly 7:40am.
Voxes 2-infinity: Oh shit.
"Hey, it's your dad," said a very sober voice, "Gramma's been in an accident. Well, so has Grampa, but he's okay. Gramma's not doing good. She has a severe brain injury..."
Tears. Lots of tears.
"...had a seizure in the car, Grampa pulled over to try to get her okay..."
Shaking.
"...passed out and they both rolled down the hill..."
I finished listening to the message and cried.
Vox 1: I knew it. I knew it. I knew it. I should've gone home sooner.
Vox 18: Oh god, should I wake up Sean?
Vox 8: *numb*
Vox 987: ....buddies, pals and friends forever...
Vox 172: If I fly out there tomorrow, will I make it. I'll take Kiara and Sean can meet up later. Stay at Dad's house...
Vox 1: I knew it. I knew it.
Vox 987: ...buddies, pals and friends forever...
Vox 5: She never met Kiara. Her first great-grandchild.
And on and on... for about 20 minutes. I got up (waking Kiara in the process) and called Dad.
What happened...
Gramma and Grandpa were going to (or coming from... I can't remember, it's not important) my Aunt Debbie's house for the standard lawn maintenance etc that my Grandpa does on Saturday. It also happened to be Debbie's birthday, so Grandpa took Gramma along. (You see my Gramma had a stroke in '99 and hasn't been the same since. Can't do for herself. She was also pretty sick late last year/early this year. She had a trach and now breathes through a ventilator in her throat. She's been deteriorating since. But sometimes my Grandpa would leave her home to rest on these jaunts.) While in the car, my Grandma just slumped over and fell out of her seat. (Doctors think this was caused by a seizure, or lack of oxygen to the brain due to a clogged ventilator... or a combo of both.) Grandpa pulled over to the side of the road and tried to get her back in her seat, get her back to normal.
"Don't pass out on me or we both go down this hill," he said to her.
She passed out. They both went down the hill. She fell 10 feet or so, Grandpa fell 20. (Miraculously, not a mark on him. Perfectly fine.) She lost conciousness. Stopped breathing. Grandpa started CPR and cars kept going by. Finally, a trucker stopped in the middle of the lane and got out. Gave Grandpa a cell phone to call 911. He stayed until EMTs arrived and left. Grandpa never got a name or a truck line. Nothing. EMT's got her heart beating and lungs pumping... took her to the hospital.
She has severe brain injury... beyond that I can't tell you. She's had swelling for months, doctors say, and she's been losing cells regularly. She also went without oxygen yesterday for approximately 15 minutes. Somehow, she's not braindead. She's only mostly braindead (c'mon, folks, it's a joke!... read it like Billy Crystal). After an EEG this morning they determined that she has some brain activity but it is very minimal. Her pupils are fixed and unresponsive. A CAT Scan this afternoon came back "inconclusive". But, doctors have said that if she ever regains conciousness she will be in a vegetative state for the rest of her life. She most likely wouldn't be able to walk, speak or even recognize any of us.
All of the above information was gleened over multiple phone calls throughout the day. That's the info as I have it right now.
After the first call to Dad, I called my Mom. I told her the situation. I woke up Sean soon after, telling him, "My grandma is dying."
Other calls with Dad would let me in on the state of the family. Most everyone is resigned to the facts of things. My Grandma either didn't have a living will or Grandpa is now Power of Attorney, because they Do Not Recussitate order has been discussed. He's going to sign it. If she crashes, they will not make any attempt to revive her. The other topic at hand... pulling the plug. Right now she's on machines and "holding her own", but without them... *shrugs*. Grandpa has come to the very sober realization that any existence she'd have from here on out would not be quality. It wouldn't be a life. Nor would his. Last night was the first good sleep he has gotten for months... possibly years. It's best for both of them to let her go now. Peacefully.
Besides, he knows what most of us have come to grips with: She's gone. The woman we know will never sit at our table again... not even the woman she was last week. She's gone and she's not going to pull through this. She's not going to come back and fight with us. And the loving thing to do... the way to take care of her, is to do what she would have wanted and let her go.
I say "almost all of us" because from what my Dad says, my Aunt Debbie is the one who's still got a slight idea that she'll pull through. Debbie still has hope. Foolish or otherwise, it's not for me to say. But who can really blame her?
As of now, the word is that decisions will be made tomorrow. Everyone's going to get sleep and get their heads in the right place(s).
Plans are already on the table to get me, Sean and Kiara out there somehow. I can't begin to express the guilt I feel about never having gone home before now. She missed me, we're finding a way to get out there now only when it's too late for her to be in the same room with her oldest grandchild and her first great-grandchild. She won't meet Sean. Oh, that's the other thing... she has a Staph infection, so I wouldn't be taking Kiara into the room with her. I had wanted (if possible) to go home and just take Kiara up there so Grandma could hear her or possible sense her...mayber her spirit or whatever would see us all for the first and last time... maybe. I don't know, but that's not possible now. Not with a Staph infection.
I don't know when we're going, only that we are. Not sure exactly how, but Dad has said he'd help and also rent us a car. We're staying with him. While we're there, I'm visiting my mom's family, my other gramma. I'm not going to be there and NOT get a chance to see people and tell them I love them. It's all I've wanted to do for months now, and dammit, if the only thing getting me back there is a funeral....
... you get the idea.
I have lots of emotions I want to go into right now. Lots of thoughts I want to put into the penseive that is my blog.
But I can't. It's time for dinner. Friends are coming by and I would like to stop crying before they arrive.
I will say this. Sean has been amazing today. There aren't words to express the magnitude of support and comfort. He's let me cry when I needed to, made me laugh when I needed to and has helped me with Kiara while I've been on the phone with my parents at various times. He's let me just randomly inject things about the situation, about my memories with gramma... about whatever comes trickling from my brain. Because it's full. So full of thoughts, memories, guilt, sadness, relief, nervousness about seeing my family again in this situation, excitement to know I'm going home soon (even if it is such a morbid journey)... and more that I can't even put to words or quanitfy, some not possible to rationalize.
I'm okay. But I'm not okay. I'm fragile. I'm sad. I'm sorry.
Yeah...
dinner.