Unprepared

”I'm going to have to start showing you things around the house, ‘cause I think I'm on my way out.”

As I shuffled in to the kitchen on Saturday morning, before I'd even had breakfast, these are the words my father greeted me with. It's kind of his style, and what seems like first thing in the morning to my mom and I doesn't to him, because he's usually been awake since 5 AM. It wasn't an easy thing to hear, though slightly more mild than last weekend's “you and your mother better go pick out a plot for me because I'm finished.”

My dad's dealing with a lot right now. He's been battling a heart condition for over 15 years, surviving thanks to a radically altered diet and the alternative medicine of chelation. He's been dealing with a benign lump on his shoulder for the last 3 or 4 years, due to a worn rotator cuff and leaking fluid. That recently turned into a gaping wound, but it's been slowly healing with assistance from a wound V.A.C.® for the past few weeks. The hole is almost completely closed, and as of last weekend I think feeling started returning to his left shoulder. He was complaining of pain after a party at my cousin's house, and couldn't move the arm much. During the week his doctor advised Motrin, which my dad stubbornly refused until the pain became unbearable.

Another doctor told him this week that he likely needed an aortic valve replacement, which could supposedly be done with minimally invasive microsurgery. Everything I've read in researching the surgery indicates that it's full open heart surgery, which involves cracking the chest and stopping the heart, the same scary conditions that led him to avoid a bypass operation several years ago. Ultimately, he needs to meet with a cardiologist, who will best assess how to treat a man who will be 79 years old in just over two months. Either he'll be a good candidate for surgery, or there will be a less invasive treatment. Meanwhile, the strain on his heart is manifesting with swollen ankles, shortness of breaths, and chills. Last weekend he had a dizzy spell in church. This weekend he spent most of the day sitting near radiators, and for a few hours he had a fever of around 102 degrees. He refused to let my mom take him to a doctor. His fever thankfully subsided, but he can't ignore these symptoms.

He's definitely tired and frustrated. He doesn't want to deal with the heart problem until the shoulder problem is resolved, although the heart is obviously more important. Any infection from his wound is compounded by the heart not pumping enough blood. I appealed to him as a mechanic, as the other bit of news he shared with me on Saturday morning was that he was worried the starter in his car was wearing out. If there's a part in a car that malfunctioned, he would always fix or replace it without delay. There's no reason not to take care of one's body with the same diligence, apart from fear. There's also the realization of when it is our time, which might be easier on us than on our loved ones. I know my dad won't live forever, and that the past 15 years have been about 14 more than doctors at the time gave him without surgery. At 79, another 5-10 years would be more than a lot of people get. I'm still not prepared for it, though.

A friend of mine who lost his father a few months ago is moving back home to help his mother out. He'll be doing some carpentry, replacing a floor, and taking care of other things. Whether we're prepared or not, when life throws us problems we have to face them. School gives us the illusion that learning is a mathematical equation, that we can invest four years on a subject and then be completely ready. I avoid so many things because I think I'm not ready or capable. Someday I will have to take care of a house, or a car, or a family. As much training or preparation as we might take, most people learn to swim by being thrown in the deep end. I never did learn how to swim properly, barely passing with a life jacket. When the flood comes, and drowning isn't an option, the best that any of us can hope for is to just tread water until we, like everyone else on this planet, finally sink.