A Beautiful Death - Part 5

My Daddy died at 5:00am on Thursday, September 20, 2012.

Grandpa reading Green Eggs & Ham to Olivia, age 3 - 2008

Kisses from Grandpa - 2008

Continued from Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, & Part 4

September 9, 2012 - 5:00pm

Daddy made it through surgery. We thoroughly celebrated this victory. His surgeon told us that it had gone even better than he had expected. No obvious complications. The only way to tell if his brain had been damaged was to keep him sedated overnight, and bring him out of the sedation in the morning. We had to see if his cognitive abilities were functioning. We just needed him to communicate, even if it was just writing. He could not speak due to the ventilator. Another "wait and see". He made it through the day, we couldn't ask for more than that. We left him to rest with whispers of love and strength. 

***********

Growing up, I loved animals. LOVED them. (still do) I would beg to live on a farm. He would laugh and tolerate my menagerie of beloved pets. He certainly wasn't very fond of them. About 8 years ago, my step-brother joined the Navy and needed someone to take care of his chihuahua. I NEVER thought my Daddy would go for that! Somehow, my Mom worked her charm and they adopted her. She reminded them of the Taco Bell dog, of course and named her "Chuppie"...short for "Chalupa". :) She became his best friend, his loyal companion. She is 16 now and taking care of my Mom. 

***********

The detour from the story of my Daddy's death is to explain the gift that I found for him, while he was in surgery. I wandered the quite upscale gift shop. The nightgowns for sale were Oscar De La Renta and Chanel. I was sporadically crying, just looking for SOMETHING he might like. Nothing. Until, I saw the stuffed dogs. They did not have Chihuahuas of course. The polite volunteer asked if I needed any assistance. I said, "I am guessing you don't have any Chihuahuas in the back..." She set off to scour the back to fulfill my emotional, teary request. In what seemed like merely seconds later, she appeared with the dog. "I had no idea we had these. I have not seen them before. Is this what you wanted?" I hugged her (of course) and almost jumped up and down. It may have just been a stuffed dog, but to me...it was a miracle. 

  

This was the day. The miracles, beauty, everything unexpected, began to happen. I had no idea what was in store for us. I didn't feel the need to that night, walking out of the hospital. He had made it through surgery. I found him a twin dog that IS allowed in the hospital, that the manager had never seen. 
Those were miracles to me. I knew we had more in store for us. I had the most important thing...HOPE.

I fell asleep that night praying that he would communicate in the morning. I wanted my Daddy back and I could actually feel it happening. I begged God, to spare him, to heal him. I prayed more than I had in my whole life. I suppose that is what witnessing miracles will do.

Part 6 to come soon....

A Beautiful Death - Part 4

My Daddy died at 5:00am on Thursday, September 20, 2012.

Daddy, my brother Bobby, & I
Our last picture together - 2009

Continued from Part 1, Part 2, & Part 3

September 9, 2012 - 6:30am

Surgery day. The struggle to stay hopeful is nearly impossible with the fear that is crushing my insides. I can see in my Moms' eyes that she feels the same way. When we got into the car at the hotel to go to the hospital, I asked her what she would like to listen to. "Something soothing." 

Sarah McLaughlin it is. I will never listen to "Mirrorball" again without the sounds bringing me back to those many drives between the hotel and the hospital. The deep breaths to ward off the palpable anxiety, the smell of coffee, the quiet, except for SM's haunting voice....until we reached the parking garage. Pushed the button, took the ticket, parked the car.

Walked straight into the building from the garage, took the first elevator on the left to the Plaza level. Turn left, then right, through double glass doors into a courtyard. Tower straight ahead. Two more sets of double glass doors, stop at the security desk. "Sapperstein Critical Care Tower Floor?" asked the officer. 4th floor, CICU, name, Daddy's name, ID check. Visitor badge issued. "Thank you Mrs.(Tiara), have a nice day."

This became the routine, several times a day. It was just as scary the last time as the first. Those two sets of double glass doors were my only escape. Once I reached the 4th floor, I had to put one foot in front of the other. Deal with whatever reality would be. My knees felt weak that day, as if any moment I would collapse. As we stepped out of the elevator, I silently prayed for strength.

We had an hour with him before he was taken for surgery. They would be performing a balloon valvoplasty. Recurrence of symptoms, restenosis (the formation of new blockages), and death occur in 50% of patients. Very risky surgery reserved for critically ill patients with absolutely no options left. We had decided to do this to him. There was a huge risk of stroke or brain damage. It was very likely that microscopic particles could travel up and cause brain damage, as the balloon breaks apart the calcification. The surgeon assured us that he has had great success with this and truly thought it was his best chance at living. We believed in him and Daddy's strength. I hugged the surgeon as my Mom signed the final consent. I asked him to promise to do his best for my Daddy. He kissed my cheek, squeezed my hand, and promised. 

The procession from my Daddy's room to the operating room was ominous. They had 5 nurses, one bagging him as he was unhooked from the respirator. He was surrounded and barely visible to me. The vast almost all glass corridor seemed miles long. I ran to keep up and tried to get just a glance of his face. 

I will never forget the fourth hallway from the bottom

They stopped just outside of the surgical suite and told us we had 30 seconds. I stepped back to give my Mom her 15 seconds of privacy. As she stepped away, I whispered in his ear. "Fight Daddy. Please keep fighting. I know you can do this. I am so proud of you. I love you so much. Please come through this, I know you are strong enough. I love you Daddy." As the nurses unlocked the wheels and took him away, the tears started to fall and didn't stop. I was afraid that would be the last time I would see my Daddy. 

All I could do is pray he made it through surgery.

Part 5 coming soon.....

A Beautiful Death - Part 3

My Daddy died at 5:00am on Thursday, September 20, 2012.

My last kiss as a single woman. Daddy giving away his girl to her prince.
December 8, 2001

Continued from Part 1, & Part 2

September 7, 2012 - 3:00 pm

I had just walked into my Daddy's CICU room at Cedars Sinai, in LA. The sight was not as scary as I expected. I have a medical background and understood most of the functions of the hundreds of lines, tubes, and monitors attached to him. The things I did not understand, the nurse graciously explained. When the doctors talked and asked questions, I was damn well going to know what I was hearing, as well as be able to ask the right questions. My Mom and I were his advocates. Nothing was more important.

I remember vividly how small he looked in that big bed. The strong, funny, vibrant man I had loved all my life was now almost lifeless. After pacing the room for several minutes, inspecting every line, every wire, every tube, I sat down and took his hand in mine. It was one of the most difficult moments of my life but one of enormous gratitude as well. I was there with his hand in mine and he was alive.

My Daddy's strong, kind, hardworking hand

It was so difficult to leave the hospital that night. I had just gotten there and had only spent several hours with him. He was heavily sedated and the nurses assured me that he could hear me. That was tough for me to believe. His eyes were closed. Not even an eyelid fluttered. His hands didn't move at all on their own. I had to curl his fingers around mine. The notion that he could hear me when he couldn't even move a finger was unlikely to me. I wanted so badly to sleep in the recliner next to his bed. However, I knew that my Mom and I needed a good meal, several cocktails, and some rest. So, we did all of those things.
My heart and thoughts stayed with him.

September 8, 2012

After a fitful night of tossing and turning, it was time to get back to him. Starbucks were everywhere, even in the hospital itself. I swear the hundreds of lattes I consumed kept me upright. I was being pulled between exhaustion and sleep like taffy. Never completely on one side or the other. Just stretched to the limit and slightly sideways.
This was an important day. We were due to meet the heart surgeon who would hopefully be performing the valve replacement surgery. This guy is a pretty big deal and I was nervous and worried that I would flounder as my Daddy's advocate. Surely I would be absolutely intimidated by being in the presence of this man. I had done my research before arriving in LA. This is a man who routinely performs true miracles. He saves MANY lives and is one of the very elite in his field. He has developed techniques that no other surgeon would ever attempt. He is a one of a kind, heart healing genius....who would be trying to save my Daddy. We had won the heart surgeon lottery. He would arrive in 5 minutes.
Perfect. I have started sweating profusely.

His confident but unhurried stride into the room put me at ease immediately. I stood and our eyes met. He shook my hand firmly then patted the top of it with his other hand. His eyes were so kind, so unassuming. My preconceived notion of this man was way off. He was the polar opposite of any expectation I had.
He wore black Levi's, a polo shirt, and sneakers. 4 phones but no white coat, no expensive suit, no ego...just a down to earth, exceptionally kind man whose passion in life was to save as many little girls Daddy's as possible. Well lives of course but, this is my story. ;)
He explained my Daddy's condition in great detail without a hint of condescension or unintelligible medical speak. He asked us if we had any questions and of course we had a list. He listened intently and answered every question with patience and compassion. To say that I was impressed with this man would be hardly enough. He is without a doubt one of the best people I have and will ever meet. God bless this amazing man.
He had explained that the buildup of calcifications in my Daddy's aortic valve was his greatest risk and something needed to be done immediately or he would arrest and die. There was great risk involved with this procedure. Microscopic pieces that are invisible to the doctor can travel up and cause brain damage.
He would die without the surgery. If he still had a chance, we weren't giving up on him. Not yet.
My Mom signed the consent form and the surgery was scheduled for the following morning. 8:00am on a Sunday. This man was truly an angel.

Later, in my Daddy's room, his eyes slowly opened. The nurse said."You guys, he's up! Come here!!" My heart nearly leapt out of my chest. There they were. Eyes as blue as the sky...looking very slowly back and forth from my Mom to me. I took hold of his hand. I leaned close to him and said,"Daddy, I am here with you and Mom. I am taking care of her so you don't need to worry. I love you so much. More than any little girl ever loved her Daddy. I am so proud of you. Oh how I love you Daddy." I smoothed his hair, kissed him all over his cheeks and forehead. He ever so slightly squeezed my hand and stroked my fingers with his thumb. A jolt went through me. He heard me. He understood me. He answered me. I asked him if he would like me to guess what he is thinking. Slow eye blink - yes.
"You adore me, your sweetpea, you are scared, you are glad I am here, and you want the hell out of this place." Slow blink....slight hand squeeze. I got it all right on my first try.

Turns out we were pretty good at this wordless dance we would continue until the end. It was beautiful. Just by a look, we knew what each thought and felt. I felt his love bore through my soul, the way he looked at me. No facial expression, just his eyes. It was one of the most beautiful moments of my life.
I slept next to him that night. Surgery tomorrow morning. I fell asleep with his hand in mine, praying to God to save my Daddy...please please please just save him.

Phantom of the Opera - 1999

Part 4 to come....

A Beautiful Death - Part 2

My Daddy died at 5:00am on Thursday, September 20, 2012.

Daddy, Bobby, and I - Christmas 1982

It takes a talented man to play piano (by ear, couldn't read music, self taught), and the kazoo at the same time. He was probably wiggling his ears too. He was a man of many talents. This photo is the essence of our father.

Continued from Part 1.

September 6, 2012 - 8:30am

Kids first day of school. During the madness of braiding hair, adjusting jean waists, finding new shoes, and taking pictures, inside I am paralyzed with fear. My Daddy was barely alive all the way across the country...and my Mom was alone. My Mom and I had decided that I would take the first flight out the following day. I would be home for their first day of school, I had a day to process all that was happening and calm myself, and the ticket was half the price. Win/Win. I just prayed that he would hold on until I got there. 

I tucked in my babies that night, gave them lots of extra hugs and kisses, and promised to call as much as I could. They were so strong, even my sensitive, precious girl. She put on a brave face, kissed me several times, and told me to take those to Grandpa but save a couple for me. Standing there in the dimly lit, very pink room, I could hardly believe the sweet girl snuggled in her bed was only 7. In some ways, she is wiser than I. I was proud. So. Damn. Proud.

September 7, 2012 - 3:30am

My dear sweet husband got up with me at this ungodly hour to put my luggage in the car, and hug and kiss me goodbye. I don't know what made this hug and kiss any different from the million others over the last 11 years, but it was different. It's like he sent all his strength and courage to me. He sent me off on my difficult journey loved and confident that I did not have a thing to worry about at home. He worked, took care of the kids, house, 3 cats, and our gargantuan dog. Damn, he is a good man. I couldn't have loved him more than I did at that moment.

I drove off, not playing my normal choice of music in this situation. You see, I am an emotional cutter when it comes to music. If I am sad, I saturate myself in the sadness because that is what feels normal to me. 

As I approached the airport, I was belting out Aretha and demanding some "Respect" for about the 10th time. I felt like I was ready to take on anything....for an hour or so, anyway. 

The flight seemed like it took days. I arrived in LA a little before noon and picked up my rental car. My Daddy had just gone in to have a stint put into his femoral artery. My Mom was waiting anxiously...alone.

The rental SUV boasted every feature known to man. What they don't tell you is that all of those features are disabled on most rentals. Fucking nice. If it wasn't for some free iPhone navigation app, I would have been lost in Beverly Hills for the remainder of the day. I mean, does ANYONE have a Thomas Guide anymore?!

Finally, at the hospital. Rock star parking, right in front. That has GOT to be a good sign, right?! I am usually the chick walking through the parking garage, furiously clicking the panic button on the remote to find my car. 

Cedars Sinai is HUGE. HUGE HUGE HUGE. Holy crap, how will I find my Mom?! Turns out, with the limited information I had, there were signs everywhere. I found the waiting room in no time. Turns out I was in the wrong waiting room but, eventually my Mom found me. We hugged for a long time. I felt strength run through me. All at once, we were surrounded. Two attending doctors, and a social worker. They took us into a lovely, modern room. Comfortable but brutally scary at the same time. I couldn't help but wonder how many families have sat on this couch before us and how many will after? How many tears had been shed here? 

As the doctors started talking, I could hardly concentrate after "extremely grave condition". I was certain at that moment that the next tears shed in this room would be mine. The social worker took my hand in hers. 

The dam broke and I lost it. Pulled myself together fairly quickly, trying desperately to listen and understand every word the doctor had spoken. We were left with,"Let's see what happens in the next 24 hrs." This is something I had heard before...when my girl was hospitalized just after her 5th birthday. It's one of the most unsettling sentences, in a hospital setting, that you hear. A churning mixture of hope, fear, dread, and panic filled my insides. 

They shook our hands. I awkwardly hugged all of them. I hugged all the nurses and doctors. To this day, I am not sure why...maybe it gave me hope...maybe it was that I was so thankful for all they were doing, to try to save him. I don't know.

We were told by the very sweet social worker that he was being brought into his room now and we could see him. Through a set of double doors and around one corner. No long walk to steel myself before facing this sight...we were there. I let go of my Moms hand and she kept walking. I hid around the corner, willing myself strength and not to cry. I had promised myself that I absolutely would NOT cry in his room. I could not be responsible for adding to his pain by having to listen to his little girls heart break. 

My Mom poked her head around the corner and said,"come on!" 

I squared my shoulders, dried my eyes, put a smile on my face...and walked into my Daddy's room. 

I did not cry.

The first time I saw my Daddy in the hospital

Part 3 coming soon.....

A Beautiful Death, Part 1

My Daddy died at 5:00am on Thursday, September 20, 2012.

December 8, 2001

I thought that these were the most difficult two weeks of my life. Then I had to learn to live without him. No hugs, no kisses, no calls, no jokes, no advice, no more words of love. The man I loved all my life, now ashes on my mantle. All of a sudden, reality was too cruel to be real.
This is our story. His death has turned my insides into dark knots that threaten never to let go. I know that time heals but that's hard to accept in the depths of grief. Death has also shown me unexpected beauty. These beautiful moments I speak of are what truly get me through one day to the next.
Fear, acceptance, death, all laced with deep love between a Daddy and his little girl. A death both heartbreaking and beautiful, all at the same time.

September 4, 2012 - 7:45am

I woke that morning thinking of my Daddy. I knew he had some critical tests scheduled in LA that day. The results of these tests would tell us how much longer we would have, on earth, with him. He was hoping to qualify for a clinical trial that could mean 5-7 more years with him...if all went perfectly.
I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach. Butterflies mixed with frogs bouncing around violently. I just KNEW I had to call him. I'd catch him in the Towncar they had hired for the day and I would get to hear his voice. He wasn't ever fond of the telephone but had gotten better in the last few years.
"Hey, sweetie!", I hear on the other end of the line. Smiling, I told him that I wouldn't keep him on the phone long. "I just want to wish you luck today. I want you to know that I am there with you, in your heart. I love you so much and I will be thinking of you every minute today. I love you Daddy...be brave, as only you can. I will call you tomorrow morning." "I love you too baby. Thank you for calling me but we are almost to the hospital. I adore you. Bye bye." Those were the last words I would ever hear my Daddy speak.

After a 3 hour CT scan, my Mom took him to lunch. He didn't look good and didn't have an appetite. He just had a short echo cardiogram scheduled after lunch and he would be able to go home. When they did the echo, he was rushed to the ER. He had been having arrhythmia's and small heart attacks all day. He was going to be admitted and would not return home any time soon. Just as they were about to finally transfer him to a room in the Cardiac ICU, he crashed....coded...no pulse. With no regard to the DNR, he was shocked twice, stabilized with drugs, intubated, and transferred to the CICU. He was barely alive.

Right before they sedated and intubated him, he said to my Mom, "please call Tiff...its time for her to come."
He had NEVER said that before. He always insisted he was fine and wanted me home safe with my babies and husband.

September 5, 2012 - 6:15am

Cell phone ringing in my dream. I wish it would shut up. Oh wait, it's my phone. Who is calling me SO early?!!! "Tiff, its Mom. You need to come out here, now. Your Dad's in bad shape and has asked for you."

Everything stationary in my life began spinning violently. I had boarded the death rollercoaster and had no idea what was in store for me. All I knew is that I had to get there...fast. The panic began to set in.


-Part 2 tomorrow.