Every lesson you taught me has become a lantern in my heart, guiding me through life.” – Anonymous
My dad is dying. People say that we start dying on the day that we are born, but I've never really believed that. I believe that the moment we actually start dying is different for everyone. My dad started dying about this time last year. We went out to lunch like we often do, and on our way to the car, he began to stumble in the parking lot, then started to careen into parked cars, clinging to them so he wouldn't fall. He couldn't answer my questions as I tried to calmly ask what was wrong. Somehow, we got him to my car. I put the seat back, and then we argued about calling 911. I respect my dad, and when I can, I defer to his judgment, but not this time. He was pale and clammy, and I had no idea what was wrong, but I knew something was very wrong.
The first responders walked onto the scene like something out of a movie. It was surreal. They got to work quickly doing what first responders do, and determined that he was stable, but when asked if he wanted to be transported to the hospital, dad, of course, declined. I was feeling only slightly better about the situation but decided not to argue with him--at that moment. The second argument came when I got in and started the car. We were going to the hospital. He insisted that he felt better, he even looked a little better, but...we were going to the hospital.
Thankfully it was a relatively short drive, because he was not a happy camper and although we rarely argue, he was making his feelings known. I listened...and kept driving. Finally, I looked at him and asked, "If I had collapsed in the parking lot, where would we be going right now?" He tried to argue that it wasn't the same thing, but I knew I had won this argument and I'm pretty sure he's the one that had taught me how to. I was glad that like so many things he had taught me, it was effective, because I would have dragged him in there if I had to. But, If I'm being honest, I know I wouldn't have had to. One thing about my dad and I--we respect each other. I respected that he had to try to talk me out of going to the hospital, and he respected that I'd made my mind up and had his best interests at heart. We both knew that I would win this one when the arguing started, but he's proud and doesn't like a fuss, so he had to try.
He was in good spirits and joked and chatted with the team taking care of him. They ran a lot of tests. He ended up on oxygen, got transported to a major medical center, and he hasn't been without oxygen since. He has COPD, interstitial lung disease/pulmonary fibrosis, and pulmonary hypertension, but he doesn't have time for all of that. His version of what's going on is much simpler and much more "dad." "My lungs are shot."
