***This post was originally dated April 30th, 2013…Obviously it’s a bit later…hee hee***
You’re probably wondering why I am posting our St. Paddy’s day celebration so late. Well, the truth is that we just celebrated it this past Saturday. Why, you ask? I’ll tell you. Because we almost lost Grandpa.
As you know from years passed, we always celebrate St. Paddy’s Day with Grandpa. It’s a tradition to go down to his house and gorge ourselves on corned beef, cabbage, crazy bread (that stuff is to DIE for, seriously) and wacky cake. Well, this year almost spelled the end of our tradition and it was seriously one of the most horrible situations we’ve ever had to go through.
One Tuesday afternoon, about a month and a half ago, Grandpa called from the hospital saying he was being admitted because of severe stomach pain. He had gone to see his dr. that morning after an all night ordeal of pain. His dr. instructed him to drive to the ER and get some tests done to see if he was suffering from an appendix infection and if he was, he would of course need to have surgery to remove it. Well, sure enough, the tests came back and there was an infection. We all went down to the hospital, confident that the he would be OK, but worried none the less simply because he’s our Grandpa and we love him dearly. Grandpa’s neighbor and good friend, Erika, (who has now also become our good friend through this ordeal) met us in his admitting room and then escorted him to his recovery room where he waited for the news on the procedure. After procuring his jewelry, wallet, phone and glasses, the surgeons came in and took him away. We all went home praying for a safe surgery and quick recovery.
The next morning I called the hospital and they said he was doing great – sitting up and talking and getting a bite to eat. So we dropped by that afternoon to hang out and give him some company. He seemed fine – the nurses brought him some lunch and Grandpa said the Dr. told him that he would most likely be discharged the next day. We stayed a little longer and then left, agreeing that I would pick him up the next day. That evening I got a call from Grandpa saying he wasn’t sure what was going on. He had developed a fever and wasn’t feeling very well. His blood pressure was also VERY low causing some alarm for his Dr. He said he would keep me posted on what was going on but that he probably wouldn’t know anything until the next day. I didn’t know what to think at this point, but I was becoming weary. I tried to calm myself and get some sleep but no one got much rest that night.
The following morning I took Henry to school and went to the hospital. Grandpa was awake but did NOT look good. He was completely exhausted from lack of sleep and his body seemed swollen. I asked what was going on and he told me that the doctors had confessed to botching his surgery. While sewing him up from he appendectomy, the surgeon did not sew his cuts all the way closed causing him to bleed out into his stomach. The blood loss was causing his low blood pressure and because it was pouring into his stomach he was feverish. They had decided that instead of performing the surgery again, they would just give him TWO blood transfusions with a binding agent that would hopefully do the trick of mending the hole. I was completely beside myself. However, it did work. His blood pressure was back to normal and his fever was gone. They kept a close eye on him for that day to make sure that the blood loss had stopped and it obviously had. So he told me that his Dr. had decided to keep him for another day or two so they could monitor him. I thought it was a good idea…little did I know. I left that afternoon pretty upset and wondered when the hell we were going to get to take him home. I was glad that they had fixed the problem, but completely dumbfounded that they could make such a horrible mistake.
On Friday morning I was waiting for a call from him to tell me what the plan was. I heard from him around 1pm and he told me the Dr. had decided to keep him another day. I was of course bummed because I wanted to bring him home, but realized maybe it was good that he was being watched?? So that afternoon we went in and hung out with him for a little bit. Grandpa looked awful. He was sweating, laboring to breathe and his stomach was swollen so bad, it looked like he was pregnant. I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on and thought maybe it was swelling from his surgery. He told us that he had asked the nurses twice to help him walk around but they totally blew him off. See…this is where we messed up. Like an idiot, I was under this impression that the nurses and doctors had Grandpa’s best interests in mind…but that wasn’t the case. If I knew then what I know now, I would have marched right up to that nurses station and DEMANDED that someone get in there and explain to me what the fuck was going on. (Pardon my mouth, but this is just unacceptable) WHY was he so uncomfortable? WHY was he laboring to breathe? WHY were those damn nurses blowing him off? WHY was his stomach the size of 12 basketballs? But I didn’t. No one else was there to fight for Grandpa…not even us and I hate myself for not knowing better. So like assholes, we left. We left Grandpa there thinking that those bastards were going to take care of him. Boy were we wrong.
That night I got a call from Erika, who was very distraught, telling me I better come to the hospital with the papers explaining Grandpa’s last wishes and to also say goodbye because she didn’t think he was going to make it through the night. I fell to pieces. Tommy and I gathered up the boys and raced down to the hospital. When we got there, Erika explained that Grandpa had started hallucinating – he thought the phone had caught on fire and that there were bugs coming out of the wall. He had told her point blank “I’m not making it out of here.” I thought he had given up…and if he wasn’t willing to fight, he wasn’t going to hang around much longer. I just couldn’t hold it together. None of us were ready for him to go and especially in this way. He had gone in for something simple, and in my opinion the doctors had been so incompetent, that they cost him his life. I talked to his brother and son on the phone and explained the situation but of course couldn’t hold myself together. I don’t know if they understood anything I was saying through my sobs. Ugh. After about an hour we drove home and just cried. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I’ll be honest…I was pretty pissed at God. We tried to get some sleep that night but of course, none came.
The next morning I was exhausted and anxious to hear something from the hospital. I called the nurses station and they told me that he had made it through the night and was sleeping. I was SO relieved and excited – I drove down alone around 10 that morning. When I got to his room, he was still asleep so I sat in the chair and worked on crocheting a hat for my friend. When he woke up he looked better. His color had come back and he didn’t seem as swollen. He was aware enough to tell me what had happened the previous night.
After his initial stomach surgery to remove his appendix, the doctors had allowed him to eat the very next day. That was absolutely the wrong call. My mother explained it to me about her brothers recent kidney surgery. Anytime you have a stomach surgery, your stomach goes nuts and seizes because of the trauma and stress. Usually you’re not allowed to have anything but ice chips for up to 3 days to keep you hydrated but also because you’re stomach can’t digest anything. Well these idiot tool bags were giving him regular food THE FOLLOWING DAY. I’m not sure if they just didn’t know or just didn’t care (totally incompetent or total assholes…take your pick). So naturally, his body couldn’t get rid of what he ate, causing his stomach to swell. He had puked a couple times on Friday afternoon and wasn’t sure why – until that night when Erika had visited him and demanded to know what was wrong with him. After a few tests, they learned that his stomach had seized…so they shoved a tube down his throat and had sucked out a total of 4 LITERS of bile from his stomach. His hallucinations had been a result of his sleep deprivation and medication they had him on. I just couldn’t believe the incompetence of these people. And yet after ALL this, Grandpa was still kicking. They had tried to murder him TWICE and he was still alive. Talk about a tough old bull.
That afternoon I bugged his nurse to get him a shower and take him for a walk down the hall. They did both and when I left around 3pm, he looked like Grandpa again. I was so freaking happy, I can’t even tell you. On Sunday and Monday he kept recovering until the doctor decided it was time for him to be released. On Tuesday afternoon I drove down to pick him up. We waited around for a good hour or so until finally the nurse came in to discharge him. I told Grandpa I’d have the truck waiting at the front entrance which was about 50 yards or so from his room. I went out and pulled up front and waited…and waited. The nurse had told me he would only be about 5 minutes. About 20 minutes later, he finally came out and the nurse helped him into my truck and we started to leave. I noticed that he looked kind of flushed and was sweating a little bit. I asked him if he was ok and he told me that when the nurse had finally finished everything up, she had said to him, “you know you seem fine, why don’t you just walk to the truck.” Grandpa, who had just spent a week in a bed, was a little taken aback and said “well, ok.” After having to stop several times to catch his breath the nurse finally decided to get him a wheelchair. The stupid jerks had to top it off with that. I. wanted. to kill. I asked Grandpa if he wanted me to go back in and say something but he said, “No, just get me the hell away from this place.” It was probably for the best too because I would have most likely throttled someone, been arrested and thrown in jail for a night and then Grandpa wouldn’t have made it home. Can you freaking believe that!? I’m telling you…these people were pond scum.
So…long story short…after trying to be snuffed out in the hospital, Grandpa prevailed, recovered for a month and made our annual corned beef and cabbage St. Paddy’s Day dinner and I’ll tell you…it was the best one I think we’ve had so far. Not just because the food was delicious, but because of our company. The old adage is so true – you don’t know what you have until it’s gone and we are so grateful that Grandpa was able to pull through such an ordeal and still be his sassy, normal self. We are so blessed to have him in our lives and love him so dearly.
Grandpa – you are an inspiration and you are tougher than an old leather belt. We are so lucky to have you in our lives and WE LOVE YOU SO MUCH. Disneyland, here we come!!!!! =)
