When it Rains …

Last night after coming home from the hospital, Hubby & I climbed into bed and quickly fell asleep. I had strange dreams of kitty cats attacking me (they’ve been “banished” from the bedroom from Hubby for “bad behavior.” And they’ve been meowing incessantly to get into the comfy bed with me) and of waking up late and missing my Dad’s pacemaker procedure in the morning. (Can we say I’m just a little stressed?!)

At around 3 am, Hubby woke me up from a pretty deep slumber asking me for some assistance. “Huh?!,” I said groggily. What kind of help would he need at 3-frickin’ o’clock in the morning?!

“The heater’s not working,” Hubby informed me. “And I need some help looking at our furnace.” And sure enough, it was colder than Joe Louis Arena during a Red Wings game. 52 degrees, in fact (which, considering it was in the 20’s outside, is quite a bit chilly).

So after clanking around in the basement for a bit, we ended up looking up our local heating & cooling company and calling them to make a service call first thing in the morning.

Except they didn’t come until close to 10:30 am. And by then, my poor kitties and”puppy” were chilled. And Hubby & I were downright frozen to the bone … despite the fact we were bundled in as much clothing as possible.

Geesh. When it rains … it certainly pours.

On a happier note, my nephew Tyler turned twelve today. This, of course, also means that I will have been married 12 years ago this coming August. Which means it will be oh … approximately 11.5 years since we’ve been TTC. Sigh …

Regardless, I wish Tyler a HAPPY 12th BIRTHDAY!

Your Uncle & Auntie Em love you “To Infinity and Beyond …. “

In and Out Again

Yesterday I was expecting my Dad to come home from the hospital. Actually, we were expecting him to go home on Saturday morning, but amongst other things, he ended up staying over the weekend. We had plans for a visiting nurse to come out the day after his discharge and were just waiting for his “walking papers.”

Yesterday morning, I went into work thinking I’d work only until I got the call from my Dad saying that his discharge orders had been written. My mom called me in the morning to tell me she was heading to Mass and then to the hospital afterwards. She had told me that she would call me once the orders were written so that I could drive over to the hospital and go over all the discharge instructions together.

About 10:15 am, I got a call on my cell phone. I looked down at the caller ID and saw that it was my Mom. But when I picked up the phone, it was a different voice on the other end. One of the nurses on the floor he was on was calling me to tell me that my Dad was having some difficulties right now and that it was best that I come join my Mom at the hospital right now.

I was up on the floor sitting next to my Mom outside of my Dad’s room within ten minutes of getting that phone call. Inside his room, I saw him surrounded by quite a few people who were either putting meds through his IV’s or performing chest compressions while “bagging” him (medical term for “breathing” for him). Basically, they were performing CPR on him.

I turned to my Mom, who was in tears. She told me that she had come up to the floor and ran into the RN Discharge Planner who just came out of the room. That nurse told her that it looked like my Dad was having difficulty breathing, so she was just headed out to get the RN that was assigned to him that morning. While walking towards the room, my Mom ran into his RN and both of them walked into his room together. It’s at that time that my Mom said she saw my Dad having some difficulty breathing and that he looked ashened and grey. Both the RN and my Mom got him into bed when he suddenly lost consciousness and his lips started to turn blue. The RN was smart enough to call for the CPR team and, according to my mom, more than 15 people suddenly appeared in his room.

Having worked in this same hospital in the beginning of my Nursing career, I know exactly how quick things happen once the CPR team is called. So it was no surprise that, once my Dad was stabilized (Thank God!), he was going to be transferred back down to the ICU once again. And yes, THE TUBE was once again back in.

After what seems like a few hours of being told to wait in the ICU waiting room, we were told we could finally go in to see him. He was sedated, but my Mom said he looked much much more better than he did when she walked in this morning. The afternoon was then filled with the ICU nurses coming in and out as well as all his doctors. Both the cardiologist and the pulmonologist thought that this was a “fluke” incident; that my Dad was trying to cough up some gunk in his lungs and then ended up “gagging” on it. From that, his heart then dropped to 10-12 beats per minute (normal is 60-100 bpm) which then caused him to lose consciousness.

The surgeon who did his bypass surgery thought different. He felt that given his incident of respiratory distress three days after his original surgery and now this recent episode, he didn’t want to take any chances that something would happen again. So he recommended placing a pacemaker so that it might “shock” his heart if it should ever get so slow again.

Today, THE TUBE came out. The most recent chest x-ray showed improvement in his lungs. And tomorrow, he has the procedure to place the pacemaker. And in these next days we need to make sure he gets aggressive treatment to get all that thick gooey gunk (resulting from years of smoking, by the way) up and out of his lungs.

And although we were so close to getting home, I’m glad that Dad was in the hospital when this incident happened. I know that my Mom, who was already quite anxious about his discharge, would have totally freaked out if this happened at home. And given that I hit every single green traffic light and managed to find a prime parking spot in the parking deck while trying to get to the hospital yesterday, I truly believe that someone up there was watching out for us.

Whew … next step …. HOME. (At least I hope so …)

Find out what it means to me …

R-E-S-P-E-C-T
Find out what it means to me

— Aretha Franklin, “Respect

There are many different definitions for “Respect.” In linguistics, “Respect” belongs to three different classes of words; noun, adjective and verb.

For this post’s purpose, I’ve chosen the verb form of this word.

re·spect [ri-spekt]

–verb (used with object)

  1. to hold in esteem or honor: I cannot respect a cheat
  2. to show regard or consideration for: to respect someone’s rights.
  3. to refrain from intruding upon or interfering with: to respect a person’s privacy.
  4. to relate or have reference to.

A subject of “heated” debate occurred recently within our family. I’m sure a lot of this had to do with the fact that we are all physically and emotionally exhausted from the past three weeks of nonstop activity. Basically what it boiled down to is that apparently I was not showing respect for this particular family member.

I feel I need to preface this by, once again, stating that I am Filipino-American. My parents were both born in the Philippines and my brother & I were born here in the U.S. The reason I felt I needed to bring this up again is because many times I feel like I’ve been brought up in two different worlds. And in these two different worlds, the word “Respect” can differ.

In my “Filipino world,” definition # 1 would be the best use of the word “Respect.” My culture places high emphasis on family hierarchy. The older you are, the more respect you are given. There are many Filipino customs that are specifically meant to show respect to your elders from using a title in front of your older sibling (“Kuya” for a brother, or “Ate” for a sister), to the physical act of greeting elder relatives when they enter a room (a term called “Mano po”). In fact, when speaking to an elder in Tagalog (the Filipino language), it is expected that you add the suffix “po” to most phrases to show respect to them.

In short, “Respect” in the Filipino culture is something that is given to you by right. It’s something that is expected to be given to your parents, your grandparents, your godparents, your older siblings. And because the Filipino “family” is extended to include all relatives and even in-laws … somehow, some where down the line (even if you’re the youngest in your immediate family), you will be shown respect.

In my “American world,” I primarily think that respecting someone (or something like the environment, for example) pertains to definition # 2 above. I feel that respect is something that is earned by showing respect to others … to consider other’s positions, to show empathy for other’s situations. By being successful in doing these (not-so) simple acts, I feel that not only have I earned a person’s trust but I’ve earned their respect as well. Because now, I would hope that in turn, they would show some concern or empathy for whatever situation I might be in … they would respect me.

In short, I think “Respect” goes hand-in-hand with Christianity’s Golden Rule: “… do to others what you would have them do to you.” (Yes, the Catholic School Girl in me is coming out again.) To me, this also means “Respect” goes both ways.

So why the “heated debate”? Well, how am I to blend both these definitions of “Respect” into a bi-cultural household? One way is given by right. The other one is earned. Then … because of 12 years of Catholic school … throw in the whole “Ten Commandments“, specifically the fifth one as it was pointed out to me, and things can get (just a little) sticky.

The Filipino-Catholic in me strongly believes that those older than I am do deserve respect, as they have more life experiences (but not necessarily more wisdom) than I do. Giving them the opportunity to talk and dispense advice (whether it’s good or not), is a way for me to show respect. Although I might not participate in the typical Filipino customs of showing respect (can’t speak the language, and hey … my brother and older cousins HATED be called “Kuya” or “Ate”), I feel that by being polite and showing sincerity to any of my elders is the way I can show that entitled respect.

The American in me, however, has a hard time showing respect to others that don’t reciprocate that respect. How can you show respect to someone who constantly ignores your opinions or suggestions? Or how can you be respectful to someone who won’t stop their angry tirade long enough to hear you speak? They might be your Filipino elders, but wouldn’t you be just as angry and hurt if it was, for example, your boss or a fellow co-worker who was treating you like this? Would you give that person any respect?

What would you do if you lived in my bi-cultural world? What does “Respect” mean to YOU? And who do you think deserves respect in your world?

Sing it, Aretha …

Tubeless

Well, it’s official. My Dad is off the respirator. They took out THE TUBE this afternoon after giving him another day to let his body recover from all the extra fluid he accumulated in his lungs after surgery. And let’s hope that extra day helped to improve his pneumonia with the antibiotics he’s been getting as well.

So far, things are looking great. When I visited him this evening, he looked ten times better (and happier) than he did when I came in earlier in the morning. I could tell he was better as he started joking around with us.

The next step is to transfer him out of the ICU. And if all continues to go well, he may possibly be home for the weekend. Woo-hoo!

Today at work, I officially started the paperwork to file for a Family Medical Leave. Although I know my Mom will be there to take care of my Dad once he gets home from the hospital, I want to make sure that I can take the time off from work whenever they need assistance.

While it might sound like I’m “babying” my Dad, I just want to make sure that the surgery to correct his heart was not in vain. I reminded him today that this surgery was not the “end all be all” fix for all his health problems. The surgery was just the beginning. Now comes the hard part … making sure he takes responsibility to keep himself healthy.

This means that there is no way my Dad will be going to any of his Doctor appointments alone for at least a year. I want to make sure either my Mom or myself is there so that ALL of us are aware of exactly what is going on with his health. And to make sure that my Dad will follow through with all his health issues.

Because honestly … I don’t ever wish that my Dad has to go through any major hospitalization again. But if he has to be, I want to make sure I know everything there is about his health history. That’s because two weeks ago when he was first admitted to the hospital, I knew little to nothing of how sick he actually was.

How bad of a daughter, let alone a nurse am I? (Yeah, I know this is an irrational thought … but somehow I can’t help thinking this way …)

Anyway, thank you ALL for your thoughts and prayers for my family. And thanks Mel, for sending support my way. Everything you girls have done has obviously worked! You are all so WONDERFUL!

Deep Breaths (aka THE TUBE)

I promised an update on how my Dad’s been doing, so here goes.

Dad’s still in the ICU hooked up the respirator. They’ve had him sedated for the past couple of days because he kept trying to take the breathing tube (aka “THE TUBE”) out of his mouth. He absolutely HATES that tube. It was the first thing he talked about when he finally got his voice back after the first time he was on the respirator right after surgery. So when he was having difficulty breathing last Thursday night and THE TUBE be had to be put back down, he was not too happy about it.

But what’s ten times worse, is not being able to breathe.

Yesterday, they tried to wean him off the respirator and took THE TUBE out a little too soon. Clinically, he looked good. His lab studies were picture perfect and his oxygen saturation (O2 sat) was doing well. That’s all fine and dandy, but since my Dad has a long-standing love affair with nicotine, sometimes “picture perfect” for non-smokers is not as “picture perfect” for smokers. Despite the fact that both my Dad’s nurse and us (my brother & I) thinking it was better to give him an extra night of rest, the ICU doctor felt otherwise. So THE TUBE came out.

And sure enough, within minutes his O2 sat dropped, he started gasping for breath, and he became more and more agitated. The ICU resident chalked this up to him being “anxious,” but when I started seeing my Dad’s eyes glaze over, I told her otherwise. And well, let’s just say that my brother (also known as “The Doctor” as he’s currently in his 5th year of residency for Orthopedic Surgery) was not AT ALL happy about what transpired. Within a half an hour, THE TUBE went back in. And now, to top it off … it appears that he’s got a bit of pneumonia in his lower lungs. Yet another thing to set his progress back.

And while Dad wasn’t too happy about having to be “intubated” (medical-ese for “placing the breathing tube”) for the THIRD TIME, I think he was just happy to be able to feel like he could breathe.

So today, Dad’s doing better. He still hates THE TUBE, but he’s come to accept it. For now. And they’ve started him on IV antibiotics to help fight the pneumonia. And the nurses and RTs (respiratory therapists) have been aggressive at doing lung treatments to help get rid of any fluid that may continue to linger in his lungs. The plan is to try to wean him off the respirator slowly and as soon as he’s able to breathe without any help, THE TUBE will come out.

I know I’ve said this time and time again over the past two weeks now, but THANK YOU for all your thoughts and well-wishes. If you can continue to keep my Dad in your daily thoughts and prayers, I will forever be grateful to you.