Should I Stay, or Should I Go?

6/28/09 - 2:00 a.m.

I said that I was lost once. I seem to have found my way deeper into the woods, no compass at hand, and the light of day dying quickly. Strangely, though things aren’t necessarily worse for my dad, his continuing, non-changing state has brought me to a crossroads. The old man has forced a decision upon me. And it very well may be the hardest, most weighted, and potentially scarring decision of my life.

Despite the moments of excitement – the moments of spiked heart rate, blood pressure, irregular breathing, etc. – the old fart hasn't really had much of a change. Two weeks the guy has been laying there, pneumonia using his lungs as a time-share getaway, keeping him in a place of uncertainty. It seems the longer that he is there, the more complications that arise simply from his being there. The nurses have to turn him every two hours just to keep his lungs from being too stagnant and allowing that infection to fester – though it’s already spread from his left lung into his right, and even become worse in that right lung. He’s seen complications from needing to receive fluids and meds, causing fluid that his liver hasn’t been able to process to collect in his tissue and lungs. Now his heart is having a harder time working, because that very same fluid is causing it stress – the cause of Friday morning’s A-phib and V-tach episodes.

Yet, overall, the old guy maintains a stability that I am thankful for.

No news is good news…?

Meanwhile, here I am, short on money, essentially living off of my brother and sister-in-law (God bless them), missing work and gigs (I’m not worried about the DJing so much as I am about the paycheck from doing so), neglecting my diva of a cat, and just not keeping up with my overall responsibilities. And I know what you’re going to say: “These things aren’t nearly as important as your father.”

Believe me, I know this.

But the reality of the situation that I’m in, that my father is in, is that this could be something that carries on for weeks. I flew out here, to South Carolina, as quickly as I did because at the moment the reports from the physicians were more dire. At the time there was talk of removing part of his lung. At the time, surgery was more than likely, and it wasn’t going to be a surgery that they felt confident that he would make it through. At the time, I was prepared to have him not make it until I got here.

I can’t tell you how thankful that I am for this ‘holding pattern.’ It means that things haven’t changed for the worse. It means that my dad is fighting. It means that, for the moment, I’m not attending a funeral. But it also means that while my dad is off in tralala-land, doing a dance with his morphine, the rest of us are developing ulcers. It means that now I’m forced to decide whether or not I should return to Portland.

And my greatest fear right now must be obvious: I return to Portland, my dad dies.

There it is, the plain and skinny of it. The practical thing to do is to go home. There’s nothing that I can do here. And to be honest, one thing that I can say for certain is that I know my dad would want me to go home. That’s just the kind of guy he his. And that’s why he’s such a good dad. And that’s why it’s even harder to think about leaving. But all I want to do is sit by his bed and hold his hand. I want to stroke that bald head (he says his hair has fallen off of his head and onto his back). I want feel his warmth and know that he is still alive. Because now that I’ve felt his warmth, held his hand, and kissed his head, I'm addicted. He's become my crack. And, like any respectable crack-addict, the fear that I might not be able to get my fix again is too much to bear.

But you see? This is all about me. This isn’t now about any good that I’m doing for my dad. I’ve told you, he’d want me to go home. I know that he knows that I’ve been here. I’ve seen proof of him responding to me. I know that he knows that I love him, am proud of him, look up to him, count on him, respect him, and thank God for him. And I know that he’s proud of me, loves me, and thanks God for me. I don’t need any reconciliation with that. I just need my dad back.

So, at this time I don’t know what I’m going to do, outside of, at least, starting to look at the availability of airline tickets. I suppose that if I turn up in Portland, looking somewhat relaxed, then you know things are looking up. But if you find me in a gutter there, missing a shoe, and slightly amnesiac, then you might not need to check this blog for what the outcome may have been.

Please keep us in your prayers.