Take Two Steps Forward, Two Steps Back...

6/26/09

We had a setback this morning. Sometime in the early hours, my dad went from being stable to not-so-stable. I’m told that he had ventricular tachycardia (V-tach) and atrial fibrillation (A-Fib), as well as pulmonary edema (fluid in his lungs). The a-fib is apparently less worrisome; a flutter in the upper ventricals of his heart. Short-lived, it wasn’t life threatening – though if it were to continue, it would be more of a worry. The V-tach, however, can be something else entirely. As stated by wikipedia:

“Ventricular tachycardia (V-tach or VT) is a tachycardia, or fast heart rhythm, that originates in one of the ventricles of the heart. This is a potentially life-threatening arrhythmia because it may lead to ventricular fibrillation and sudden death.”

“Life-threatening.” These words weigh on me. The cardiologist says that V-tach and A-fib aren’t abnormal in someone as sick as my dad, and therefore not as worrisome, and may be expected to occur again – still… “life-threatening.” The V-tach may have been a result of the pulmonary edema, I’m told. The edema itself appears to be the result of all of the fluids that he’s on. His liver isn’t processing these fluids fast enough, and so it’s going to other parts of his body: his tissue spaces (resulting in his puffy, bloated appearance) and now his lungs. He’s on meds to help counter these effects, but nonetheless, the effects remain.

They’ve stabilized him, yet again. He’s here, in front of me, handsome as ever – if still bloated – sick, and still very much in danger of losing this battle. I can’t get past the words of the cardiologist: “I can’t say he’ll come back.” Come back? He hasn’t left yet, but I understand the insinuation. His unconscious state is a result of the medication that they have him on, to keep him sedated. So, it’s not like he’s in a coma. He’s not in a comatose state, unresponsive, and possibly never coming out of it. We could easily wake him if we so chose. Just start pulling back the medication and he’d be bound to come around. But we can’t do that. He can’t breathe on his own properly. He needs that plastic tube snaking down his throat and helping him to get all of the oxygen that his body needs. And in a wakened state, he’d fight that tube – as would anyone.

So we’re back in this state of waiting. We’re in this ‘holding pattern,’ unable to move forward, and praying that we don’t again move back. It’s up to him now; him and the antibiotics that haven’t yet made their presence apparent in his system and in his progress (or lack of one). He lays there unconscious, but not comatose, the battle raging within invisible to those who love him, standing on the sidelines silently cheering through our tears.