We knew that his health was in decline. He was eighty-one and had congestive heart failure. Ten years before this he battled bladder cancer. Now he couldn't catch his breath walking across a room, but, after sitting in the exam room for half an hour, would tell the doctor that he felt fine. He wasn't lying; it's just that, sitting still, he did feel fine. How often do we hide the real truth without realizing it?
We had been getting reports from my aunt that his feet and ankles were swelling significantly, and I felt that we needed to check it out firsthand, even though it was a week before the reunion. We thought we would come early and surprise my dad. We had to drop a casserole off at the house on the way to the church. My dad's car was still in the driveway, even though it was past time for Sunday school, which he attended faithfully.
Upon entering the house, I found him sitting in his recliner, all dressed for church (always wore a suit and tie), not moving or snoring. I thought he was dead. I called his name, and he jerked awake. I asked him what he was doing, and he said that he was going to Sunday school, but had sat down for a few minutes and fell asleep.
He had difficulty moving around, and we recommended that we all skip church that day and just visit. Even this time he asked when we would be leaving --- just for planning purposes. We ignored it, and Lois began to prepare lunch. After the meal he said that maybe we could play some Canasta, to which we agreed. But before we could start, my favorite aunt arrived.
We spent the next hour or so talking about his health. We suggested that he go to the Emergency Room to get checked out, but he refused. We even suggested that he take a few days and stay with us until he got to feeling better. We live near a large VA facility, where he could get treatment as retired military. He declined the offer. So we visited some more, then Lois and I headed back to Bristol.
The next afternoon I received a call from Lois, who had received a call from my aunt. My dad had collapsed at home and was transported to the hospital, where he was admitted into intensive care. I came home and called the doctor in order to assess the situation. We weren't eager to take the 2-1/2 hour trek back down there immediately, unless he was in danger. According to the doctor, my dad was in danger. His oxygen level had dropped significantly, and blood clots were forming in his body.
We packed quickly and arrived at the hospital that night. Waiting for us was my aunt, M--l and her daughter. My aunt pulled me aside and told me that M--l had my dad's wallet. She apparently had been called by my country aunt (who had found my dad), and she arrived at the hospital first. She used the credentials from his wallet to get him signed in. I asked her for the wallet, and she turned it over to me. I thanked her for helping him get admitted.
We waited for news on my dad, and a short time later, a doctor came out to update us. He addressed his information to M--l, but my aunt jumped in and said, "Talk to him (pointing at me); he's the son. She's the girlfriend." So from that point on, I was in charge. But I relied heavily on Lois for advice and encouragement.
After awhile we (the immediate family) were allowed to visit him. I asked him how he was doing, and he said that he was feeling fine, just a little weak. I told him he gave us a scare and that maybe the docs could get him back on his feet. The hospital required the visits to be kept short, and as I was leaving, I choked up and told him that I loved him. He replied that he loved me too.
I didn't realize at the time that he would never leave that hospital.
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