They Thought Dad Had A Stroke

And I nearly had a heart attack

***UPDATE: He had a stroke in the middle of the night. He’s in the ambulance. I’m following in the car.***

The last 13 hours have been… hell, I don’t know what they’ve been.

450am I’m headed to the bathroom and I see dad. He’s up, dressed, bed made, and wobbling around the house. I ask him if he’s okay. He thinks he’s running a fever and that his blood pressure is up. He says his right arm hurts and he can’t see out of his right eye.

Say no more.

I began multitasking to get myself out of my jammies and into appropriate ER clothing, which would be basically anything that covered my T&A. I woke up not feeling so great myself. I had planned on taking some meds and crawling back under the covers again.

Drop him off at the ER entrance. I’m gone long enough to lay the foundation of a new house when I circle back around to the ER and chat with Security. Dad has one of those fancy-schmancy cars where you don’t need a key to turn it off and on. But you do need to have the key in your possession in order to secure the vehicle when you’re ready to walk away.

There’s a handy bit of advice for those of you who didn’t know. Like me.

Security ran inside, located Dad, and then brought me the keys. Back across the street to the parking garage. Up to Level 3. Park. Elevator down. Walk across the street to the ER. COVID screening. Security walks me to where Dad is.

The next 4+ hours are spent with bloodwork, a urinalysis, CT of the brain, chest x-ray, an EKG, and my 82-year-old dad fussing the entire time. It’s too cold. The IV hurts. He just KNOWS they gave him the wrong medicine. He wants to go home. His right arm hurts. He’s hungry.

You get the picture.

He was stable, and they had done all they could do there, so they released him. I drive us back to the house and no sooner does he step out of the car I can tell he still isn’t right. He can’t walk without help. He’s slurring his words. Earlier, while trying to watch TV, he was sitting there with his right eye closed. He can’t function- he can’t remember how to use the remote. He can’t walk without help. He dropped a Coke which led to me getting his fanny back in his chair and then getting the mop out and mopping the kitchen floor.

And the entire time I felt like I was going to drop. I hadn’t eaten. I hadn’t had my meds. And like I said, I didn’t wake up feeling so great myself. The caretaker needed a caretaker at this point. Once I got him settled, I laid down on the bed, covered up because yes, fully clothed in April, I was cold and took a nap.

Now at 525pm he’s still not settled; he still fussing; still slurring his speech; still can’t remember how to use the remote. I made a little something for him to eat. I had to cut up his meat for him because he still can’t use his right hand. He ate most but not all of it, so that’s something I guess.

As for me, I’m feeling exhausted again. I’ve had meds and food. But I can’t relax. I keep hearing things in the next room hit the floor, and I’m always afraid it’s him. So with a gasp and a jump, I’m up and out the door and peeking around the corner to see what’s up. He’s still trying to do things with his right hand (since he is right-handed, after all) and he keeps dropping things. This time it was the remote.

This whole incident has made me wonder if I can really move out and into my own place after all. What if I hadn’t been here? What if he had, Lord forbid, tried to drive himself to the hospital? A lot of What Ifs and no real answers. No satisfying ones, anyway.

It’s going to be a long evening and an even longer night.

He and I have the same PCP of whom I called and left a message with his assistant. Ryan, the PCP, is going to order a sonogram of the veins in Dad’s neck and chest as well as an MRI of his heart. So… guess what I’ll be doing tomorrow?

In the meantime, I had an ultrasound last Tuesday, got the results on Wednesday, but am still waiting for the endocrinologist to call me with the details. I understood enough of the results to know that they confirmed “something” is on my thyroid. A nodule. They even gave the dimensions. That’s where my comprehension of medical-eeze ended.

It was on my agenda for today to call her myself if I hadn’t heard from her. And I was to call Pain Management to schedule my next series of lumbar shots. And I was supposed to… supposed to… supposed to… but I was a bit busy today, so me and my stuff will have to wait until tomorrow. Okay, maybe the day after that. We’ll see.

At this moment, I hurt all over and am so worn out. It usually only takes running one errand to wipe me out anymore. Thank you thyroid nodule. But today? I am completely undone.

Well, the living room has just gotten quiet.

Time for me to go.