tuesday, july 28:

he continued to be doing well, and was sounding like himself. he was quite active on the telephone throughout the day. i'm sure he kept the nurses busy trying to find him a portable phone whenever one was available.

i went in to visit him that evening after an early dinner. again, i turned the corner toward room number 4 and i could see him sitting up in a chair eating dinner. what a contrast to just two days earlier! he was surprised to see me, and said that he'd called joy to tell her that i didn't need to come in for a visit. he was feeling tired and wanted to get some sleep. i asked him why he hadn't called and told me that, since joy had not relayed the message, and he somewhat sheepishly said he misdialed. regardless, i was there so we had a visit.

he was doing so well. he was chatty, and funny. he was enjoying his nurse, named fredrick, and said that fred had helped him comb his hair. he teased fred that he'd be happy to give him a reference for a new career as a hairdresser.

he was also saying he wanted to watch a bit of CNN, but they were having difficulty getting any tv reception, but that was ok. he said "i have to remind myself, i'm not here on vacation, i'm sick and i need to rest!". while we chatted, he'd move around a little and his leg stumps would move and kick around. they seemed almost cheery. at one point, he stopped talking and held his breath, as though in pain. i asked him about it, and he said he was having some phantom pain in his right ankle. he surprised me by saying that they treat that with tylenol! how amazing. i was looking forward to learning new things about the world of amputations, and wheelchair living in general.

we had a nice visit. not too long. he was keen on getting some rest. he was doing so well that they were planning on moving him to a regular floor as soon as a room became available.

i left that night feeling so encouraged, thankful and amazed. there was still so much uncertainty, but if anyone could make this work, it was going to be the unsinkable george mcknight.

when i think of that night now, it's bittersweet. it was such a great visit, but everything changed after that night. things were never the same again. i got glimpses of his true self, but never for a full visit like that. 

wednesday, july 29:

we spoke on the phone that day, since it was not a visit day. he told me that he'd been up for most of the night, praying that God would make him a warrior. that he would have the strength for the journey ahead, and that he could be a warrior for others with similar conditions to his who couldn't fight for themselves. he fixed his mind on finding purpose and how his life could continue to have meaning.

he was full of ideas. some were kind of silly. he had plans on living in this new affordable housing complex across the street from his current home, but they only just started construction there, so it didn't seem like a realistic option, although, i told him we'd look into it. i remembered my mom telling me years and years ago that when my dad was a young man, his friends used to tease him that he must stay awake at night coming up with various plans and ideas. he was a dreamer, coming up with exciting new possibilities. i know for myself, that having the possibility of something good is encouraging for me. when things are bleak, even the faintest idea can be a glimmer of hope. so i decided, he's coping with this major loss by mentally coming up with ways that he'll manage; to have possibility of a hopeful future. i told joy "he may come up with some crazy stuff, but we just need to let him dream right now. that's how he's comforting himself".

that evening he was moved up to connell 9. joy spoke with the senior resident who would be his primary doctor until the end of august. after that he would be moved to providence care hospital for rehabilitation. joy was really relieved to have one consistent physician to deal with for the next 3+ weeks, especially after getting passed around from so many different places up until then.

he was getting settled in his new room. it wasn't a window side (but rather a hallway side) but that was ok. i anticipated visiting him on friday, and again on saturday, since it was end of the month and there would be two odd number days in a row (31 and 1). but nothing ever stayed the same for very long.

thursday, july 30:

we had plans to meet up with some friends at city park that morning. but just before we were supposed to leave, joy called me in tears. my dad was acting strange and joy had laughed at him when she thought he was kidding, but he was actually serious and she felt terrible.

he'd called her that morning in a bit of a panic saying "JOY! i have to get out of here", and she laughed and said "ok, sure, dad. you go ahead." knowing that he had no legs and no way of getting anywhere. he suddenly sounded very serious and asked her "are you my daughter?" as in "are you going to help me?" she was confused. surely he was kidding. he couldn't go anywhere. he was very sick and had just lost his legs. he told her he felt trapped and that the bandages on his legs were too tight. he felt like he had two big basketballs on the ends of his stumps. joy spoke with his doctor and she said that he'd kept trying to take off the bandages, so they had to strap him down. joy was really upset by that. the thought of him being or feeling trapped was the worst-case scenario for him.

joy spoke with e.ann who assured her that our dad had told her "joy is going to take care of it. it's going to be alright, joy's going to take care of it". which she found reassuring – he was not offended by her laughing at him.

friday, july 31:

the latest update from the hospital was not good. his condition was no longer stable, and they didn't understand why. his heart and kidneys were failing, and they wanted to move him back into the ICU.

i had an appointment later that morning to get some routine blood work done. joy and i agreed that if he died while i was at the blood clinic that she would wait to let me know when i got home. i remember waiting in line with my boys at the back of the life labs clinic. everyone in masks. trying to keep my boys occupied, while feeling pretty emotionally and mentally checked out. i was also anxious about my own health, since i'd been having some kidney pain and i felt that my dad was the poster child for why you didn't want to have kidney disease.

anyway, it all went pretty smoothly, and my kids and i walked back home. it was hot and i was feeling pretty stressed and impatient. i especially struggle with impatience when i'm very low on reserves and it feels like my kids are purposely making life more difficult for me. it's an ongoing challenge. but we made it home, and my dad was still in the same condition.

joy had spoken to him over the phone, and he seemed to respond (perk up) at her voice, although he couldn't speak. tim, since he works at the hospital, he went by the room to see my dad and pray with him. tim reported back to joy that he was so out-of-it and didn't seemed to know tim was there.

he was back in the ICU by evening, and i contacted the family in TO to let them know about this sudden turn. that evening, rachel and shannon came by for a campfire and i cried and talked about my feelings most of the evening. i found myself often wondering aloud through my tears "why is this happening? he just lost his legs. why are his major organs failing?" it was a cathartic visit, and i appreciate their willingness to sit and listen.

saturday, august 1:

we continued to wait for something to happen.

joy and i were reluctant to go visit, since we had such happy memories of our last visit that we didn't want them replaced with something that might disturb us. but by afternoon, i felt that perhaps i would go visit and just sit holding his hand. i thought that would at least be a comfort to him, and me too. so i called to find out if it was a visitation day, and found that the next day was. so i called joy and told her that i planned to go visit the next morning. 

sunday, july 26:

i wanted to go in and see my dad as soon as possible in the ICU, but i needed to wait to speak with joy. in the meantime, i called the hospital to see if they would allow both of us to visit. the head nurse in the ICU told me that only one authorized person was allowed in, and that just a few months previous, no visitors were allowed in the ICU at all. he told me "the best thing we can do for your dad is get him out of the ICU, then she can visit him on another floor". when i talked to joy, she was fine with that.

as i had been thinking about everything that had happened, i knew that his choice to proceed with amputating both his legs was an act of love. that he loved us and was willing to make this sacrifice to be with us. i cried a lot thinking of that. i thought i'd never be able to see him without his legs and not have that visual reminder.

my dad had been a chaplain at KGH on and off for about 20 years. during that time, he spent several years working with patients and family in the ICU. he told me once that only about 30% of patients in the ICU survive. i'd been in the ICU before, when i used to work at KGH in the environmental services department (the new title for house-keeping). i was aware of how intense it felt in there, and knew that seeing him would be difficult. i tried to imagine him without his legs to prepare myself.

when i arrived in the ward, i turned left down the hall, and he was in the room at the very end, facing the hall. room number 4. i could see him lying in his bed in the dark. he was hooked up to lots of machines, with tubes and wires everywhere. he had the intubation tube in, and there was this strap across his face keeping it in place. he also had a feeding tube up his nose. he couldn't speak. there was one screen on the wall that was tracking his heart rate, and it was flashing "irregular, irregular". seeing that made me nervous. they required me to wear gloves and a gown before i went in (in addition to my mask). i wasn't sure why at first, but knew it was pretty common practice.

"hi dad" i said and he reached his hand out for me. i told him that i'd brought a bible to read to him, if he was interested. he nodded. i asked him if he wanted me to read from the old testament or the new. and he held up two fingers, for the new testament. i asked him "would you like me to read from john?", he nodded yes. so i stood beside him, holding his hand with one hand, and holding the bible in my other hand. not long after, he started gesturing that he needed a nurse, so i went and got her. he needed to use the bed pan, so i went and waited in the lobby. this happened again shortly later, and i asked the nurse about it – i wondered if it might be stress related. she explained that he was on a liquid diet (i hadn't clued into the feeding tube at that point) and that it's common to cause diarrhea. but just as a precaution they'd taken some samples to ensure he didn't have a bug (which was why we were wearing the gowns and gloves).

after my second wait in the lobby, we didn't continue with reading and attempted to chat with the help of a piece of paper that had letters on it. he was quite tired and struggling to spell things out. i tried telling him of all the well wishes people had shared, but i found he didn't seem particularly interested. and he definitely didn't want to discuss his ordeal (he wanted to know about us and how we were doing). he did ask the date and what day of the week it was. i told him it was sunday, and that he had his first surgery on thursday. he raised his eyebrows in surprise. when i asked him if that seemed too short or too long, he spelled out that it felt like more time had passed.

he spelled out B-O-Y-S with his sheet, asking how my boys were doing. i tried to give him an update on joy's camping trip. but it was difficult to give him interesting news, since we'd mostly spent the weekend waiting on news about him. i told him i would make sure to get more information from joy and her kids for my next visit. we continued trying to communicate using the letters, but i could tell he was becoming frustrated. a doctor stopped by and she also tried to understand what he was saying I-N-E-E-D-W-O-O-D. i didn't understand, but she said "words? you need words?" he nodded. she said she would try to get him a sheet of words instead of letters.

he seemed to be struggling or in discomfort. i asked if he was in pain, and he shook his head and kind of gestured to the tube. i asked him if that was the worst part, and he nodded. at one point, i could see a stream of wet coming from his eye. i wondered if he was crying or if his eye was just leaking. i concluded it was just leaking. although, it would be reasonable for him to cry. i was intentional to hold his hand a lot, because physical touch was his love-language, as well as words of affirmation. 

a young doctor or resident came in with an update. he had a few questions about if my dad would want to be resuscitated, and explained that it could become necessary for him to get a tracheotomy. my dad tried to communicate, but struggled, so i spoke for him. "my dad would like a chance at life, and he's willing to do what is necessary. is that right dad? unless you've changed your mind..." and he nodded empathically. he wanted to live.

when it was just us again, and shortly before i left, i told him "i'm proud of you, dad" and he took my hand in both his hands, and he pulled them toward his heart.

when i got home, i called joy with an update. i told her that i estimated that his legs were about 6 to 8 inches long. afterward she said to me "you did good, les. you did good".

monday, july 27:

i called the hospital for an update. they were hoping to take his tube out that day, but were going to wait and see how he was doing. i continued in a mixed state of sorrow and relief.

when i got home from the grocery store, as i was carrying the bags up to the house, brendan came out and said three familiar words that i didn't know if i'd ever hear again "your dad called". that brought a huge smile to my face as i responded with "he did?".

i'd noted during my sunday visit that there was no phone in the ICU room, but it turns out they have a few portable phones that they're able to take to patients who are able to talk. but it all depends on availability. it was tricky to get a hold of him, but i left a message for him to call. shortly later, i saw KHSC appear on our ident-a-call, and it was the nurse who passed him the phone. his voice sounded gravelly, but stronger that i was expecting. he also sounded in good spirits. he asked me to retell him everything that had happened since wednesday, so i sat on my porch, chatting away to my dad over the phone the way we had a hundred times. it felt so normal. it was so encouraging. at the end of the story, he said to me "i'm sorry to have put you through all that", but i was just glad he was alive.