Meet the Cast

We've lost two legends this week, Patrick McGoohan and Ricardo Montelban. Meanwhile, my father is slowly on the mend, and one doctor suggested he might even get to go home in a few days. This is all pending a few outstanding test results, of course, and even if he does come home we may need to have a nurse visit to administer IV antibiotics for an indefinite amount of time. His fever spiked briefly on Wednesday, but for the most part has been staying down. His color is good, and the swelling in his arm is reduced. When he's finally through this rough patch, there are a lot of people to thank, from God to all the concerned friends and family who've expressed prayers and well wishes in his direction. I've been writing so much about my father for the past ten days, that I may have been remiss in mentioning some of the more colorful characters we've spent time with on this strange journey:

Hello Nurses: There are two kinds of experiences one may have with a nurse in real life. She can be kind, caring, and attentive, or she can have an attitude and barely conceal how much she hates her job. Sometimes, when one encounters the latter, circumstances such as a long double shift or a bad day can account for it, and you might catch her in a better mood on another day. I remember one nurse when I was in the hospital who repeatedly ignored my complaints of discomfort, insisting that I wasn't going to throw up because the nasogastric tube I was fitted with made it “impossible”. There are many professions in which absolute statements like that are dangerous, and medicine is one such field. Last week, I asked a nurse a question about the doctor's orders, that he told my dad a particular cream needed to be applied for five minutes. “Oh no,” said she, shaking her head and making a condescending face, “I've been a nurse for FIFTEEN years, and there's NO such thing as a cream you have to rub in for FIVE minutes.” I felt like telling the lady I wasn't questioning her credentials, that I was literally repeating what the doctor had said. My mom thought I should have shot back my credentials, how long I'd been a human being. But, I think there's a good analogy to be made between waitresses and nurses, that sometimes you have to kill people with kindness and catch flies with honey to avoid repercussions. I didn't want anyone to spit in my dad's IV.

Still, these nurses are rare, and the ones I remember are the good ones, like Pauline, the head nurse who can be compassionate and patient and bring my dad a warm blanket, but be firm and get her staff where they need to be with the commanding presence of a Marla Gibbs. Jacki is also kind, and with her figure and complexion I was certain she was in her early 20s, so I was surprised when she told my mom her oldest son, who was 18, was just starting to drive and make her nervous. Nadia is also a sweetheart who can be a calming presence to my father, explain things clearly and never seem to mind repeating stuff when he can't hear. I thought I heard him shout “LADY! I got something for ya!” after producing a sample of something they requested, but I think he was calling her Nady because he couldn't quite pronounce her name. She was the one who witnessed and cosigned the papers for his surgical procedure, and reassured him that she, like the rest of the staff, was there as his advocate. The good ones definitely stand out.

Uncle Dean: Loud, boisterous, and the furthest thing from shy, my godfather has been walking the line between annoying my dad and distracting him from his problems. A six or seven foot man who carries a big black cane and still retains most of his red hair, he kind of reminds me of a cross between David Caruso and House. If he didn't drag his shy 39-year-old workaholic mechanic buddy out on a double date with my godmother's friend, a 30-year-old Sicilian who worked for the phone company, I probably wouldn't be sitting here typing this. My mom remembers that first date, when she answered the door and found this booming giant rubbing his hands together, who then stepped aside to reveal my dad, who wouldn't get to do much talking during dinner. Sitting in the hospital room while my godfather bounced from story to story, and then somehow engaged the patient in the next bed and his visiting relatives in conversation, I had a pretty good idea of what that first date must have been like.

“Helloooo, beautiful!” he said, as Jacki came in to check on my dad's neighbor. “You have a WONDERFUL figure!” he said as she left. The family laughed nervously as my godfather explained that you're supposed to tell women when you think they're beautiful, that you should never be embarrassed by that. Later he asked Agnes, kind of a young brunette Carol Kane European type, if he could stay in the hospital with her. “Why YES, but probably not eeen thee bed!” she said, tittering. Everybody knows my Uncle Dean and if they don't, he'll friend them quickly enough. This guy came back from a stroke that took his voice for weeks among other things, and other than occasionally struggling to think of a word, he came back full force.

One Stick Rich!: Hands down, this charismatic phlebotomist lives up to his name. My dad was concerned about having blood drawn again, as others had trouble finding veins and more than a few missed. One Stick Rich!, with the outgoing friendly demeanor of a Rey, confidently assured my dad that he had a reputation. “Ask anyone! Ask who One Stick Rich! is! They all know me! You're not going to ruin my reputation now, are you?” As my dad began to respond, One Stick Rich! finished filling the last vial with blood, and his reputation and nickname were safe. On Wednesday morning while I visited my dad, I watched another phlebotemist struggle to find a vein, and once she did she complained that my dad's blood was flowing too slowly. If I'm ever in that hospital as a patient again, I know who to ask for.

Musa: Musa is from Africa, and works on the hospital staff cleaning floors, changing beds, and other custodianly duties. After one of my dad's roommates checked out, I had a nice conversation with Musa about the area where we live, and the money some people around here have compared to others. At one point, Father Fred, the visiting African priest from our parish, stopped by to chat with Musa. He had picked up a battery for Musa's camera and wanted to check if everything worked for him. Before he left, we asked the priest to give my dad communion, and when he left my mom told Musa that we knew Father Fred from our church. Musa told us that he was a good guy, that he was more than a friend, he was his brother because they came from the same continent. Musa was raised as a Muslim, but was fascinated with the Christian faith. He toyed with the idea of converting, but did not want to disappoint his grandfather. We had an interesting theological discussion, and he pointed out the similarities between our monotheistic beliefs, and which things paralleled. His own name, for example, was derived from the name “Moses”. Perhaps his greatest contribution thus far was when he walked by and noticed how ridiculously swollen my dad's hand had become. This set off a chain of events of my mom bugging the nurses, who bugged the on call doctor, who bugged my dad's main doctor, who bugged the surgeon, who finally came in and made an appointment to get the arm drained.

Random Sicilians: This last one kills me. While my dad was in surgery, we waited in a special lounge, which my mom told me she and my dad waited in nine years ago while I was having my intestines resectioned. There was one or two other families on the other side of the lounge, and most of us were either quiet or speaking in whispers. There was a single telephone on an unmanned desk, and when a surgery would be finished someone would call to let the family know. Every time my mom answered, it was always for one of the other families. When it was my dad's doctor, I only heard the first thing she said, as she repeated the news that my dad's rotator cuff was gone. At this point, a mob of eight Sicilians came in chattering loudly in Italian, and my mom covered one ear while straining to listen. When she got off the phone and told me he was fine and would be in recovery for a good 40 minutes more, I left to go pick up some sandwiches from Quizno's. When I returned, they still hadn't called so my mom came out to the regular lobby. “They're Sicilian,” she told me, “I was talking with them, and could understand some of what they were saying.” Apparently they were from Brooklyn, and looked so familiar I was certain I'd seen them on the sidewalks as I played various feasts. What are the odds?

I've even sort of learned a little Italian myself this week. There's some expression my mom always rattles off when something bad happens, like when she's cooking and burns her hand, or drops something on the floor. I was mock-emulating it by saying “Salagadoola mechicka boola!”, so she decided to teach me how to say the real expression. I couldn't quite repeat it even as she broke it down, so she wrote it phonetically for me. I don't know the real spelling, but it's something that sounds like “Ala fachiotsa di gu di chi mal ay di mia!”, which apparently roughly translates into “In the face of the one who intends me harm!” It's definitely one of those phrases that sounds far better in Italian, and I’m getting better at it with practice.

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And that's the colorful cast of this strange adventure, at least the ones who stand out. It doesn't include the team of 7 or 8 doctors, of which I've only met two, and I'm sure there are others than I'm forgetting, such as Rose, the wife of my dad's first roommate who taught my mom how to crochet a plastic bag. I've been watching her unravel and stretch this thing for the last few days, and what I thought was going to be a coaster or a hot plate I think will now end up being a bonnet, one surprisingly sturdy because of the nature in which it’s woven. All of these people, including all of you with your comments and prayers, play an important part in helping us through this time, and I'm eternally grateful. I can only hope I'm part of the cast in someone else's life story...