Dad Mighty

My dad is a fighter. Like me, he's a short, quiet Italian guy that people tend to underestimate. Unlike me, a lifetime of hard work as an automobile mechanic has given him forearms like Popeye. His has an inner strength to match the outer, and though he's shown natural fear and depression in the face of a very scary week in the hospital, I'm starting to see a glimmer of that strength. I'm certainly looking for that glimmer.

Any mention of an irregularity with white blood cells naturally leads me to cancer fears, forgetting that those cells amass to battle infection. So the test he had this week in which those cells were tagged and tracked was to determine where the infection was, where they were most concentrated. As I could have guessed just by looking at him and knowing his history, they were around the site of his infected shoulder wound. Meanwhile, his temperature has been coming down each day, occasionally going back up, and he's been able to move the arm more without wincing in pain. On Friday morning, he paused while drinking from a small orange juice container I'd just opened for him. “What is it?” I asked, as he just nodded down at his arms. Then I realized he'd lifted the cup to his lips with both hands, and bent the bad arm with little trouble.

From what my research has shown about bad infections like this, he may be in for a long haul. Antibiotics are being administered intravenously, a particularly strong one by the name of Vancomycin. The doctors haven't given a time frame, but I've read from four up to six weeks in some cases. There's also the possibility of the infection spreading to the bone, in which case a portion of it may necrotize and have to be cleaned out manually. With his heart condition, they wouldn't be able to sedate him completely should that course of action be required.

He is sleeping better, though occasionally talking about checking himself out. I warned him not to shovel snow this weekend, that I'd take care of whatever the impending storm dumped on us. Interestingly enough, it was just last February when my mom was hospitalized that my father and I faced the dilemma of snow. I don't think we're in for as bad a storm, and I definitely will clear a path and won't make my mom walk, averting any pimp-slaps from Rey. While we were visiting my dad on Friday night, the nurse actually brought him down for another sonogram. Initially, the shoulder doctor had his shoulder checked for blood clots, thankfully finding none. Since then he was seen by a cardiologist who was concerned with his swollen legs, and so those were checked. I have no idea how to read a live sonogram, just saw a lot of dark areas that occasionally flashed blue and sometimes red. Were the red spots bad? Tune in tomorrow, as only doctors can share results.

When we got back up to his room, Bruce Almighty was on. My mom ordered the television once it became clear that he'd be there at least through the weekend. “He's so crazy, that guy!” chuckled my dad at the antics of one Jim Carrey. What is that stuff that's the best medicine again? We stayed for the end of the movie and then bid him goodnight. I'm glad it's the weekend so I can spend more time with them and keep an eye on my mom too. I think she's missed or delayed some of her own medications with everything that's going on. My dad is a fighter who, not unlike his son, is prone to fear and self underestimation. I remember being certain I wouldn't survive my surgery a few years back, telling my folks sappy things like “you were the best parents ever” as they watched the hospital staff wheel me into an elevator and close the doors. But I shook off that whole “bleeding to death” thing pretty well, thanks to God and a great surgeon. When those elevator doors closed, I didn't think I'd see my parents again. Right before I succumbed to anesthesia, I told the surgeon I was Wolverine. We all have our healing factors, albeit not accelerated mutant healing factors. It took time, but I healed. It may take some time and a lot of encouragement and positive support from his family, but my dad will heal too.