I always knew my dad was special. He has far too many quirks NOT to be.
Ok, so he doesn’t actually LOOK the part of a rock star. And he’s really not into rock at all … always been a country music lover. (He swears there’s no music like country music!) Well, that’s a question of taste. Not that I don’t like country music, I’m just devoted to the jazz set. But this is NOT about me. It’s about my Daddy.
It’s funny how after you grow to adulthood, life makes you see things you never noticed before. I hadn’t known my dad was the rock star he is until he recently went into the hospital.
It was NOT a pretty picture. We thought it would be the last time we’d see him, seriously. He’d been in the “community care center” for about six weeks. (NOTE: community care center is another name for nursing home, a term he absolutely HATES). We LOVED taking care of him at home, but it became too much. Only from the standpoint that he wouldn’t allow us to actually bathe him. His pride wouldn’t let him. So it was time for him to go to the “community center.” That said, what more could we do … except call him each day and visit him each day … and pray for him each day? And we did (and still do) all happily.
My Dad’s always been a funny guy. Not Richard Pryor “laugh out loud” funny, but amusing. You know like, “Did he really just say what I think he said?” kind of funny. And he’s so spoiled in these later years. After Mom died fourteen years ago, we doted on him. And coddled him. A lot. He’s grown to like it. Too much I think, but he deserves it.
Anyway, a week ago things looked ominous. He wasn’t eating and was barely drinking. He’d lost thirty pounds in about a month. Being diabetic, we knew this wasn’t good news. So the center whisked him to the emergency room around 9 p.m. Sunday night—which, as anyone who’s ever gone to the emergency room knows—that meant we didn’t leave the hospital until after 1 a.m. And that was a good day.
The following morning he was placed in ICU, but only because that was the only available spot for him until a bed opened up elsewhere in the hospital.
Around 6 p.m. on Monday, a bed was found for him. Of course, because I was really exhausted, down-trodden and beat down, the room was on the complete opposite side of the hospital. Get this: the hospital is laid out laterally! And the one door to enter through is on the opposite side of where they took my Daddy. To make matters worse (for me, not him … he’s on a gurney) in order to leave you have to leave by the same door you came in! Have you ever heard of such? But again, this is NOT about me and MY issues!
Ok, where was I? Oh, yeah … we almost lost Daddy. Okay, so we’re leaving ICU (left turn) down the LONG hallway. Make a right turn and go down another long hallway, then a left turn … it was grueling! But here’s where I suddenly found humor: My Daddy is 200 pounds soaking wet. He’s on a gurney with wheels—good ones, no squeaks or anything, just rolling along. There are FOUR hospital personnel pushing him to his new location—plus one to carry the oxygen (which he never had in his possession … Geez, wonder what THAT cost us!).
We’re going down another long hallway and I notice that I’m carrying one of his tubs with his cleansers, soap, toothbrush, etc. My oldest sister’s carrying his hat, towel, washcloth and her stuff, too. My other sister’s bringing up the rear along with my oldest brother. There would have been two more people tagging behind them, but my youngest sister and her daughter decided to head home, since they’d been at the hospital for a few hours already.
When we turned that last corner and passed the nurses’ station, the look of astonishment from all the workers was classic! It was like the King of Siam coming through: this one, grand individual being trudged through with his own entourage! In a moment of silliness, I grabbed my imaginary handheld radio and said, “Statesman coming through! Clear the way. Statesman coming through!”
My sister, Sissy, and I began to laugh because we suddenly realized that it was an incredible sight. And all for our Daddy.
Anyway, that’s just another story of why my Dad’s the rock star. He gets rock star treatment because that’s what he’s always given us.
In our minds it’s just a tad of the paybacks we owe him.
Turns out, paybacks ain’t so bad after all.
