Wednesday, December 9, 2015

When it rains....it pours

Areal Flood Warning for the Portland Metro area and, well, my eyes. 

The phrase "when it rains, it pours" can be literal and figurative. And then there are times when its both. 

El Nino, its a thing and well, the Pacific Northwest is experiencing a year predicted to be more intense than '96/97 and let's just say that was a bad year....

So we have some flooding here. Like cars are up to their headlights in standing water in downtown Portland kind of local flooding. One county and all its incorporated cities have declared a state of emergency with several others following suite. Although I have only two years of experience in the field of emergency management, this is adrenaline inducing and I'm a junky. Okay, so no emergency management director wants to hear that, but the other explanation is less flattering for me. Coordinating resources and managing flow of information gets me going - how ridiculously nerdy...

While that is all exciting and I'm chomping at the bit to be doing it. I am disappointingly unemployed right now. So none of this is my responsibility. I don't GET to do any of it. But that's okay. I've got my own emergency to manage. I have my own resources to coordinate and information flow to maintain.

                                  -------My flood of tears, emotions and exhaustion--------

Yesterday, it poured. I mean drenching Florida type, monsoon rain. Did I mention a flood warning? It happened to also be a logistical nightmare of a morning. Not just everything I needed to accomplish, but also the literal traffic. Who would have thought that standing water on highways and rush hour would prove to be problematic, anyway? 

It's one of those days when you have a dentist appointment. Now, I don't particularly dislike going to the dentist, but show me someone (other than the dentist) who likes to be there. I mean, they ARE getting paid.... I happen to have my niece for the day. And while 2 1/2 year olds are tons of fun, they are not very good at sitting still in a chair without anything to do. So, I asked my dad along to sit in the car with her. They could, well, listen to the rain??

As we set out on our 35 mile trek to the dentist, it became abundantly clear that we would never make it on time or even close to on time. Traffic was at a standstill on I-5 in the middle of Vancouver. So, I called the dentist office, explained the situation and canceled the appointment. I was informed that I would need to provide a $50 deposit to be able to schedule another appointment. The receptionist asked for the payment promptly. I reminded her that I was driving and stuck in traffic and ended the call. 

My dad, niece and I took the next exit and began to backtrack toward home. My dad requested that we stop at the store for a few items, since we were already out. I obliged and decided to stop for a spontaneous sausage biscuit from a location that shall not be named. :) It's of the upmost importance to keep toddlers well fed. Low blood sugar = well, tiny demons. I also swung through for some coffee for me. Because, well, no caffeine = a much larger demon. 

Well fueled and caffeinated, we headed to the grocery store.  We shopped for what we needed and took our time, because life is too short to rush when you don't have to. Besides, my niece was completely content to drive her racecar shopping cart anywhere we needed to go. We paid for our morsels, loaded the car and drove home. I thought for a moment that everyone was particularly quiet on the drive home, but chalked it up to it running errands unusually early in the morning. 

Dad unloaded the groceries and I retrieved the little munchkin from her carseat and gathered all her toddler accessories. Have you noticed how much they come with?!?! That's the kind of relationship I have with my dad. Very in sync. Most of the time we don't even have to talk about what we are doing. We just help each other with whatever task is at hand. 

Fighting the urge to sit down and rest (two more hours until nap time), I began to tidy up the house. I was feeling oddly anxious and nervously restless. Cleaning always calms me, because I can see results. I know, nerd alert. It was a short period time before I heard my dad walk into the room from behind me. There was something in the way he walked. I looked up and immediately reached for my phone. 

I could see that he was pale, actually he was extremely ashy in color. I noticed that his brow was damp with sweat and his breathing labored. His energy was anxious and nervous as well. One look at him, and I knew he was having a heart attack. 

He promptly said, "Alright, Shaunee let's go to the ER." I made him sit down because well that's what you do. And he taught me years ago that the bigger they are, the harder they fall. 

He doesn't particularly like ambulance rides, but who does (again, aside from the men and women who serve our country as first responders)? I told him that he would be traveling via ambulance as the phone rang in my ear connecting to a 911 dispatcher. I provided the necessary information including his history of heart disease and implanted defibrillator.

Our trio waited patiently on the front porch, anticipating their arrival.Within three minutes of beginning the call to dispatch, the big red truck as my dad put it was parked in the street in front of the house. The "big red truck" followed by an ambulance with lights flashing made quite the scene, especially for my niece. The look on her face was priceless and heart-wrenching at the same time. With eyes as wide as saucers, she took it all in.  Papa, as she refers to him, explained that these people are here to help him and make sure he is okay. The usually full of life and always having something to say, bright-eyed kid, simply nodded her head in agreement and watched what seemed like ten people arrive on her doorstep. 

I gave a brief history and pertinent information to ensure nothing was missed. Without an up to date medication list handy, my quiet cling-on and I escorted the kind paramedic to dad's room to jot down his list of meds. As the paramedic left the house, the tiny voice began to ask, "Papa be okay, Shaunee?" "I'm scared." I apologized for her being scared and reassured her as many times as she asked. As with all small children, they understand way more than they can tell us. So I made sure to explain everything that was happening. I buckled her into her carseat, asked her to just wait a moment and we would be on our way, following Papa to the hospital. 

I conversed with the paramedics to confirm it was a heart attack, and the hospital he would be transported to. I was asked to take it slow and not try to follow the ambulance, they would be transporting with lights and sirens. Although I understood, my little backseat driver assisted with a play by play and enthusiastic encouragement of me to drive faster. "There goes, my Papa. Gotta follow him." "Papa be okay."

Then she requested to call Grandma. You must understand that my parents haven't been married in a very long time. However, by some miracle they have managed to be cordial. For the sake of the children, of course. So, we dialed Grandma, handsfree of course. As my mother answered, kiddo's sweet disposition shone through in a moment we all needed most. "Hi, Grandma!" "Papa be okay." I couldn't help but tear up. Naturally, I had lost sight of the ambulance and was honestly in a state of emotions where I had to ask my mother for directions. Without too many details, let me assure you that I did not think that would ever happen in my lifetime. 

After talking to Grandma, she asked to call her Momma. Everyone wants their mom when they are upset, no matter how old they are. I dialed my sister. "Hi Momma!" "Papa be okay?!" This time she said it with a little bit of questioning this time. Again, heart-wrenching. But her mother, without skipping a beat, kept her composure and said "Yeah, baby. Papa be okay." Her mother was already on her way to the hospital and would beat us due to her location and traffic. 

With no more distractions, the little racecar driver put it in fifth gear. "Where is my Papa?!" "We gotta follow him." I reassured her that we were following him and he would be at the hospital with Momma when we got there. 

With all the wind, rain and traffic, we slowly and carefully arrived at the hospital. After carrying stubby legs all her accessories and my purse through what seemed to be a full tour of the hospital prompted by two individuals providing misinformation, I finally arrived in the waiting room where my sister sat patiently. 

She, fortunately, arrived in time to meet our dad in the emergency department and ride in the elevator with him to his next destination. The only information she had was that the doctor said he was having a massive heart attack. So, there we sat for what seemed like eternity. Finally someone emerged from behind the door looking for us. We were giving slightly more information: he had a blockage, a bad one. They took him into surgery immediately, removed the blockage and placed a stent. He would be staying in the hospital for three days. 

All afternoon and evening I sat with him, took care of him and waited semi-patiently for the cardiologist to come around. After what seemed like prying information out of him, I had a full picture of what happened. 

This was my dad's fifth heart attack. So, not our first rodeo. However, this time came closed to being the last. My dad suffered a STEMI. This is a ST-elevated myocardial infarction. Reading the EKG with assistance from the ever helpful RN, John, it was determined that the issue was in the bottom right on his heart. A rupture in a vessel can either lead to bleeding out or a blood clot. Obviously, bleeding out is bad. Clotting of blood is normal, should happen and if you don't then you bleed out. However, when a clot forms and it is too thick or large enough to block the entire vessel, well, you get a heart attack. 

He was in the emergency department for a very short period of time due to the seriousness of his condition. He was taken to the Catheter Lab immediately. A groin catheter placed and a procedure to clear the blockage and place a stent was completed. When I finally got to see him, he was resting comfortably. I spent the afternoon and evening with him. Around six thirty, I left to go home, take a shower and pick up things to stay the night. 

As I got into my car, started my engine and turned on the radio, my eyes began to flood competing with the surrounding gullies and sidewalk drains. The main entrance of the hospital was blocked due to excessive water causing me to drive in circles to exit the hospital and giving me a little more time to myself to think and release my emotions alone in my cold, wet car. 

I drove home singing along to the radio, trying to see through my tears and the very wet windshield. I took a nice, long, hot, shower; changed my clothes and backed my overnight bag. I drove back to the hospital crying and singing the whole way there. 

My operational period was over, I was tapped out. I made my bed, made sure dad was comfortable and caught a few winks of sleep. For me and the Portland area, Tuesday, December 8th can be summed up by feeling dumped on by tear/rain drops, a landslide of emotions and a sink hole that I'm not sure I'll be able to crawl out of for a while. 

Tuesday, December 1, 2015

A Great Place to Be... ?

You come home after spending a few hours of quality time with your mom. You walk in, dinner is ready. You make your plate, sit down and devour the light and flavorful salmon, wild rice and broccoli you prepped earlier that afternoon.

It's the perfect amount of food. You are satisfied. You wash your plate, put the food away and begin your nightly routine of winding down for the night. You've changed your clothes, washed your face, brushed your teeth and are crawling into bed.

This isn't a new routine, but it's in a new place. Once your have mentally checked the list of nightly routine, slight uneasiness washes over you.

Isn't this a great place to be? It seems a little picture perfect, doesn't it? A home to come back to, a mom to spend time with, dinner ready when you walk in the door, a nightly routine, a bed to crawl into?


And suddenly, you are smacked with reality.....


You spent the morning watching your beautiful, hilarious, and loving niece. You spent the afternoon rushing to complete errands to ensure you are on time to another of your mother's preliminary appointments before the double mastectomy. Once you arrived home, dinner was already ready and mostly eaten, so you ate alone even though you live with your dad, sister, brother-in-law and that beautiful niece.

You crawl on to your albeit really comfortable makeshift twin sized bed of plywood, pallets and a mattress with a much needed memory foam topper located in your sister's dining room. To your left is a metal and plastic self-assemble closet where you have strategically placed your belongings. You have zero privacy and change your clothes twice a day in the bathroom.

Why? Because you are getting DIVORCED.

Well, this certainly isn't where you thought you be at 27 and the road that got you here isn't the one you thought you would take. So you learned that life rarely works out the way you think it will. And maybe that's just it. You can't just think about it, you have to make an effort and take action.

Maybe this is a great place to be, after all.