My husband and I are TUTS season-ticket holders, and on the night of May 15, 2015, we had tickets for “The Music Man.” We had an extra set of tickets for our close friends, Mike and Rhoda. At 5:09 P.M., they wouldn’t arrive for another 45 minutes, so I decided to call my parents to see how my father was doing. To see how (or if) their stories matched, I called my father first and he seemed to think that everything was going well and that he’d be leaving soon. He wasn’t wearing his hearing aids, so the conversation was a bit challenging. At 5:16 P.M. I called my mother to get her side of the story. When she answered I asked how the patient was doing. She responded by saying, “We’re just having so many problems with engineering.” At first I thought that either I had misunderstood or she had, but our conversation continued in the same confusing vein, and some of her responses seemed straight out of “Harry Potter.” I handed the phone to my husband and told him to ask her about my father. He seemed to have a nice conversation with her, but when he handed the phone back to me he said that he couldn’t understand a word she said.
The challenge of living three hours from your loved ones is that you can’t just run down the street to check on them. I needed eyes on my mother, so at 5:27 P.M. I called the neighbor who lives across the street, explained that I was having difficulty understanding Mom, and asked if he could go over and ask my mother about my father’s condition. He called back 15 minutes later and said that he couldn’t understand her either. At 5:50 P.M., I called my father and told him that I thought that Mom was in some sort of trouble and that I wanted to call 9-1-1. He said that he would call her himself. For future reference, having a hearing-impaired person without his hearing aids call someone who’s speaking gibberish is pretty much a waste of time. He had no trouble understanding what he thought she said.
I called my mother again and told her that I was calling an ambulance for her and they would take her to the hospital. It was another confusing conversation and I don’t know if she got the gist of what I was saying or planning to do because I couldn’t understand anything she said. As I was telling her good-bye, she finally said something that I could understand; she told me that she “loved me to bits.”
At 6:23 P.M. I called 9-1-1. When asked about the nature of my emergency, I told the Harris county 9-1-1 operator that I needed to be transferred to a 9-1-1 operator in Bell County. She said, “I don’t even have a phone number that I can give you.” My husband, who was busily searching for Bell County phone numbers on his iPad, gave me the number for the Bell County Sheriff’s office. My call was answered with, “If this is an emergency, hang up and dial 9-1-1.” OMG! I knew that she would eventually end up at Scott & White Hospital, so I called the main number and told the operator of my plight. The very helpful operator said that she would transfer me to someone who could help me. I wish I had made a note of that department because I was greeted with another recording of, “If this is an emergency, hang up and dial 9-1-1.”
Now it’s almost 6:30 P.M. Our theater-going friends brought us sandwiches, turned in our tickets at the box office, and went to the show themselves. In desperation, I called my parents’ neighbor again and asked if he could call 9-1-1 for me. He did, but he had a difficult time convincing them that my mother was in need of assistance. They eventually agreed to send an ambulance to the house. Before he hung up, our friend provided the 9-1-1 operator with my mother’s name and my name and phone number. I was relieved that help was on the way. I started gathering clothes and my work computer so that I could leave as soon as I heard from the hospital. That wait took much longer than I expected.
Call me crazy, but it seems like the State of Texas could have a web page (maybe a wiki) that contains the 254 phone numbers of 9-1-1 operators. At the very least, the 9-1-1 operator who answered my call should have have been able to say, “I can’t transfer you, but you can call 254-555-5555.” I was lucky that I was able to snag a neighbor to make the call. The elapsed time from my first call to 9-1-1 to the time that our friend placed the call was nine minutes. In an emergency, nine minutes can be the difference between life and death.
Dad’s food tray arrived shortly after 8:00 A.M., but I couldn’t feed him until he was more alert and repositioned in the bed. I used Dad’s call button to summon assistance from the nurse or aide (CNA).
Right after they finished taking his vitals, Leslie walked in for Dad’s physical therapy session. Mom, Nakita, and I were shocked when Dad said hello in response to Leslie greeting him. Unfortunately, the interaction ended with hello, and Leslie was unable to rouse Dad enough for him to open his eyes. She said that she would try again later today. Having been unable to administer his morning meds or take his temperature, Nakita left the room. Like me, she had been a tad optimistic when Dad seemed to respond to Leslie.
The doctor returned to Dad’s room a few minutes later with Nakita and the nursing student in tow. Dad seemed to be in a lot of distress, which the doctor thought might have been caused by a full bladder. She planned to scan his bladder and provide him with relief if that was the case. I asked about nourishment because he hadn’t eaten much since lunch yesterday. She said that she did not want to insert a 
At 10:30 A.M., while Mom and I were sitting in the waiting room, the doctor sat with us and said that Dad’s distress had not been caused by his bladder, which was bad news because the problem could not be easily remedied. She also said that because the antibiotic required to combat CDiff must be administered orally, she had decided to insert the NG tube because Dad was not able to swallow pills. Although she would not know for 24 hours whether he had CDiff, she needed to start treatment now in case he did. She also said that they would give him some morphine to keep him comfortable.
A little before 3:00 P.M., our friends Earl and Marilyn arrived. Before we had learned of Dad’s current condition, Marilyn had told us that they wanted to visit Dad. I didn’t ask them to change their plans because they are such good friends, and I thought that Mom would benefit from their company. The doctor sat with the four of us to discuss Dad’s situation. She said that she had already contacted the Medical ICU (MICU) doctor. Because Dad’s blood pressure was dropping, he would need the type of 
At 4:15 P.M. Drs. 
After consuming a glass of wine and some mixed nuts, we decided to return to the hospital. We left home about 6:30 P.M. As I was backing out of the garage, Nakita called to tell me that Dad was being transported to room STC 484. We arrived at the STC area just before the 7:00 P.M. shift change. Dad was still on a gurney that was parked outside of his room. He was breathing when he was brought to the room. After he was moved from the gurney to the bed, the nurses introduced themselves and said that they would return in a few minutes. We sat silently for a few minutes. Looking at Dad, his color seemed so different, and then Mom said that it didn’t look like he was breathing. I put my ear to his chest and couldn’t hear his heart. I took off my glasses and held them over his mouth, but he didn’t produce any noticeable fog. I opened the door and caught an aide as he was exiting the room across the hall. I told him that it didn’t seem like Dad was breathing. He ran down the hall to get our nurse and aide. They both listened for a heartbeat but heard nothing. It seems that he must have passed when they moved him from the gurney to the bed. We stayed in his room for another 30 minutes, and as we were leaving, the hospital chaplain intercepted us in the hall. We returned to Dad’s room to discuss how to proceed once we engaged a funeral home. I gave my father a final kiss and hug, Mom said goodbye to her husband of almost 70 years, and we left the hospital. As much as we hated visiting the hospital, it devastated me knowing that we wouldn’t be returning to see Dad.
As crazy as it might sound, during the past four months, “
At 8:45 A.M., Leslie from PT stopped by. I updated her on Dad’s condition. While she was there, Dad mumbled something about killing the rooster. I explained that I had been singing “She’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain,” which has a verse about killing the old red rooster, and she said that perhaps I needed to sing better songs. She then proceeded to sing the first verse of “
Before Mom and I left his room, we noticed that Dad was totally engrossed in eating an unseen ice cream cone. His eyes were closed and he seemed happy as he carefully and methodically licked the ice cream from the cone. It was one of those moments that made you want to laugh and cry at the same time. I wished that he could have been as involved with us as he was with that ice cream.
Mom was out of her heart medication and I wanted to pick up her prescription from the pharmacy before the hospital parking lot filled up. When we hadn’t heard from the nephrologist by 8:30 A.M., we left the hospital to pick up her Eliquis. As we were leaving, we encountered Dr. Hunt, the attending physician, as he was exiting from a crowded elevator. As we exchanged pleasantries, I expressed my concerns about Dad’s mentation and told the doctor that we were running an errand and would be available to speak with him soon.
September 3, 2018. I arrived at the hospital at 7:30 A.M. Dad’s breakfast tray was sitting on the bedside table, but the meal seemed rather skimpy. When I compared the contents of his tray with the slip that accompanied it, I saw that he was missing the cranberry juice, cereal, and coffee. Toshia, Dad’s aide, contacted the kitchen and requested that they bring the missing items. While she was in the room, I asked her if she could get Dad repositioned in his bed so that he could eat. She said that she would request assistance from Isabel, Dad’s nurse.
Dad was alert, cooperative, and had a great physical therapy session, and Angie said that tomorrow he should be able to spend time sitting in a chair. At the end of this session, I was feeling very positive and was encouraged about his progress. Mom and Stan arrived at 9:15 A.M., just as Angie and Beverly were wrapping up Dad’s session. I was disappointed that they had missed Dad’s best physical therapy session since his surgery.
At 10:30 A.M., the 
Dad was awake and alert when the respiratory therapist arrived with a 
Mom and I were back at the hospital by 1:00 P.M. I reheated Dad’s lunch and called for the nurses to reposition him in the bed so that he could eat. While they were in the room, he kept trying to remove his 
I also told her that I wanted to speak with a neurologist tomorrow. It seemed to me that Dad had changed dramatically around noon, and his current condition seemed different from anything that I had experienced with him during this or any previous hospital stay. It also concerned me that the change had seemed sudden and occurred when he was using the spirometer. She said that she would add a note to Dad’s chart.
Mom and I finally left the hospital at 6:30 P.M. I had been so happy and optimistic about his progress this morning, but now I was very weary, discouraged, and concerned. On the way home, we saw a rainbow over the hospital, which I hoped was a good omen. After Dad’s sudden change, I was open to all signs of good luck.
I arrived at Dad’s room at 7:45 A.M. His breakfast tray had arrived and was on his bedside table. He was still sleeping, but I was able to wake him easily. He finished about half of his breakfast before the physical therapist arrived. I never knew if we could expect to see a physical therapist on the weekend and I was pleased that Dad was being seen by a therapist during the holiday weekend. The session got off to a rocky start when the therapist accidentally dumped the contents of Dad’s urine bag on the floor. While she and the nurse cleaned the floor, which took a little over five minutes, Dad was able to sit without assistance on the side of the bed. The therapist was hesitant to have Dad stand up because his blood pressure was a bit low, but eventually, she decided to let him try. After standing, she retook his blood pressure, and it had elevated into the normal range. Because an aide didn’t assist her today, the therapist did not have Dad walk. Instead, she had him sit and stand a couple of times and then do some leg exercises on the bed.
Unfortunately, the effect of the coffee was short-lived, and Dad fell asleep moments before Stan and Mom arrived. Although he was awake when Dr. Hunt, the attending physician, arrived, he was very groggy. When the doctor questioned Dad about why he was in the hospital, he said that he was in Temple because of a broken leg, which was closer to reality than his answers 
I was glad when Dr. Blake Tanner, the nephrology resident, entered the room, thinking that Dad might turn his attention to another subject. However, I was a bit disturbed when he could not answer the doctor’s questions about where he was or the year, which were daily questions to ascertain mentation. Dr. Tanner said that they would hold off on dialysis and diuretics today to see how Dad’s kidneys functioned. In one of the days where they gave him diuretics, Dad voided 300 ml of urine; on a day without diuretics, he voided 350 ml, so they wanted to see how his kidneys functioned today. Depending on today’s results, they might dialyze him tomorrow. The doctor checked for swelling in Dad’s legs, but they still seemed to be fine. He said that they were waiting on the results of the morning labs, but he didn’t think that they would see anything that would alter their plan. They hoped that the Midrodine would elevate Dad’s blood pressure enough to get the kidneys to produce more urine.
After waiting for 35 minutes, Storie and Miguel, the nurse and aide (CNA) entered Dad’s room. When I asked about the location of the bed, Storie told me that they had been told that they could not move the bed back to the center of the room because Dad was a fall risk and an escape artist. While they were changing Dad’s gown and adjusting his position in the bed so that I could raise the head of the bed, I ran downstairs for a cup of coffee. When I returned, I heated up Dad’s breakfast and started to feed him, but he fell asleep before we had made much progress. He still needed to take his morning meds, which was an ordeal when he was half asleep. Fortunately, he still had some Cream of Wheat in his bowl, and Storie was able to crush his pills and mix them in the warm cereal. He made a face as he took the nasty concoction, but at least we were successful in getting the pills in him without him choking on a liquid while trying to swallow the pills. By 9:10 A.M., Dad was sound asleep.
At 11:45 A.M., Miguel took Dad’s blood sugar and it was 42 (normal is 100), which prompted him to call the nurse. Storie entered the room with Shelly, another CNA, and had him drink a couple swallows of orange juice. Shelly then had the nearly impossible task of getting Dad to consume a tube of a substance similar to Karo syrup. He hated the taste of it and she practically forced it into his mouth.
At 3:15 P.M., the nurse pulled out Dad’s central line on the left side of his neck, which had been replaced by the tunneled line 
At 8:10 A.M., Dr. Tanner, the nephrology resident, told me that Dad had had 2,400 ml of fluid removed yesterday during dialysis. He said that the nephrologists needed to know whether Dad wanted to continue with dialysis or use the diuretics to remove fluid following his discharge from the hospital. If he wanted dialysis, the nephrology team would make the arrangements with the dialysis center. I knew full well what Dad’s decision would be. While he was in the hospital, he probably believed he had no choice in the matter, but I’d bet good money, given a choice, he would not want dialysis. The problem was that history had shown that he wouldn’t take the diuretics as prescribed, which is what led to his fluid overload condition and his two falls. He had been healthy and active until he quit going to dialysis. I hoped that Mom might be able to sway his decision.
During the morning rounds Dr. Hunt said that according to Dad’s 
So far, the most significant untruth told to us was the statement made by Leslie, Dad’s last ICU nurse. She had assured us that although there was a higher patient-to-nurse ratio on 6 North, they had many CNAs who could attend to patients. Carrie laughed out loud when I asked her about the additional aides. Contrary to the messaging in ICU, the patient floors have five or more patients per RN and as many as 19 patients per CNA. It’s no wonder that the CNAs and nurses appreciated the time that I spent helping Dad to eat and take his meds. These were busy people who relied on family and other patient advocates to assist with patient needs. I was grateful that I was in a position to be with Dad so that I could assist him.
Moments before noon, Angie and Judy, the 
Helping Dad to eat was a bit challenging because he periodically fell asleep during the meal. Whenever his eyes were closed, I stopped feeding him. I would not let him put anything in his mouth unless he was awake with both eyes open. When he was finished with breakfast, I noticed that he had dried blood under his fingernails, and I grabbed a washcloth from the linen cart and started cleaning his hands. He bled easily these days, so there was no telling how his nails got into that state.
Dad was still awake when he returned from his trip to the x-ray department. Moments after Aspen had him resituated in his bed, his lunch tray arrived. I was relieved that for once he would be able to eat a meal while it was hot. But as luck would have it, Angie and Judy from physical therapy arrived within seconds of the food tray. The hospital had its pecking order of providers and services at the hospital, and so did I. For me, physical therapy trumped food trays, so Dad would enjoy a lukewarm lunch after physical therapy.
When Dad returned from his dialysis session at 5:15 P.M., he was still wide awake. According to Aspen, he had the dialysis nurse call the nurses’ station a few times to see if his wife was OK. Usually, Dad sleeps through dialysis, so Mom and I were surprised to see that he was awake and alert when he returned. I marveled at the change in him since this morning.
When Mom woke up at 6:00 A.M., she said that she was exhausted and that she was frustrated that she didn’t have time to do anything around the house. Last night, Stan and I had talked about trying to get Mom to stay at home and rest, so I took this opportunity to suggest that she stay at home this morning, and I would bring her with me to the hospital after lunch. She gratefully accepted my offer.
Dr. Tanner, one of the 
So far, I’d seen everyone today that I wanted to see, with one exception: I had not seen Dr. Hunt. However, it was now 11:40 A.M., and I needed to get home for lunch. After a quick lunch, Mom and I returned to Dad’s room at 12:50 P.M. When I reached out to touch his right arm, I noticed that his gown was damp on his right shoulder. When I mentioned the damp gown to Aspen, she said that while I was gone, they tried to give him a pill and some water had spilled on his gown. I don’t know if I could swallow a pill while slumped down in bed, especially if I was in a groggy and confused state. I didn’t question her more, but I assumed that he was able to swallow the pill.
Tale of Two Parents 