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.