At times I loathe phones. Every caller wants something.
Last night the phone rang.Who is it now? I rushed to the phone and waited for the caller I.D. display –Kindred Hospital. I paused–my mother and aunt were in the kitchen talking. I looked toward the stairs that lead to the kitchen. I could hear footsteps heading in the direction of the kitchen phone. I needed to answer. I grabbed the basement receiver.
Was the doctor calling again with the same borage of questions? Does he want blood? Does he want to be resusitated in the event his heart stops, I prepared mentally for what now seemed routine. Yes he has a living will. Yes he has a DNR order. Our goal? The best quality of life possible, I was ready.
I picked up the phone- static. Faintly I heard an unfamiliar African male voice.
“Hello Mrs. Neal?”
“Yes.”
I said in an effort to relieve mom from having to deal with the constant stress the doctors and nurses deliver. What were they going to ask now?
“Your husband’s heart rate is 30. If you want to be with him, now is the time to come.”
Thoughts raced through my head. Thirty? How long can a person last with such a low heart rate? Is his breathing labored? When did his heart rate drop? Did he get a dose of Metropolol or Digioxin? Had it been in the 30’s for long? I didn’t ask.
“Thank you for calling. Good-bye.”
Quickly hanging up, my fingers fumbled across the buttons as I anxiously tried to call my husband Mark, then our son Balthus, neither answered.
Dortha, a dear friend, was sitting with Dad reading spiritual literature to him. I needed details. The sound, tick tick tick became louder and louder in my head. Maybe that was my heart. I got on my computer and texted Dortha.
‘What is daddy’s heart rate?’
moments passed before a reply,
‘It was 23 now it’s 12.’
Taking deep deliberate breaths I thought of all the different numbers flashing on all the monitors.
“No that’s the SpO2.What does the monitor say his heart rate is? You will see a little flashing red heart.”
It seemed to take quite some time for her to respond. I needed to know how fast his heart rate was dropping. How much time did we have?
Finally a text, “0,everything says 0”
“Is my daddy dead?” I texted
She felt awkward, how do you respond to such a direct question in a text?
“Oh baby its zero.”
I knew. Rushing back to the phone I called Kindred,
“Can I speak to the nurse for 208?’
“Yes, this is he.”
The nurse replied over the phone static.
I needed confirmation. “Has the patient in 208 died?”
“Yes, are you coming?”
“We are on our way.”
My brother had just sent an email. My reply,
“Daddy died moments ago.”
Next I called my sister, thankfully she picked up the phone on the second ring. Regretfully, I don’t have a gentle lead into tragedy. Well I don’t think I have a gentle lead into any subject.
“Shar, Daddy died.”
I text my son.
His reply,
“Really?”
Finally I told mom. That was the hardest news to share.
Mom and Aunt Audrey only minutes ago had returned home from Kindred hospital.
Later that night mom told me the nurse said that he might not last through the night. But how many times had we been told that he would not live much longer? Optimism is always in the forefront of the mind when you are thinking of loved ones. Dad had not been conscious for 11 days. I am glad she was not there at the moment of death. Seeing his body deteriorate was painful enough.
We arrived at the hospital one by one. My husband arrived first. He loved Dad as much or more than many biological offspring’s. He cared for dad when I was so tired I could barely lift another finger. He always sacrificed whatever was necessary for our father. For his deep love and tenderness toward my dad, I am forever grateful.
He spoke with Dortha who was with daddy when he died and then called to let us know he arrived. She said he died peacefully. The next 4 hours Mark sat in the room where my father’s body lay. His main concern was comforting our mother. Mom stood over daddy then she sat next to him. We looked, we talked, we cried, we recounted memories.
The hallway leading to SCU was cold, dark and uninviting. But we were all their. This would be the last look this system would afford us of a wonderful father, husband, brother, and friend.
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