My phone rang at 2:20am. I had been working late, and just went to bed a half hour earlier. My phone was in the kitchen as the ring tone repeatedly blasted. I jumped out of bed, half asleep, and stumbled down the hall to try to answer it before the music stopped. By the time I got there, it was silent. I was too late. Seconds later, Jamie’s bedside iPhone started to ring. It had to be my sister. She always tried his phone when I didn’t answer. I rushed into the room as he was picking up the phone. Standing next to the bed, I stared and listened to him. “Hi…oh, okay, hmmm, she’s right here” he said.
I grabbed the phone from his outstretched hand, urgently asking “What’s going on?” On the other end Susan managed to tell me through broken sobs and a shaky voice that Mom was at the hospital. She explained that Mom was really sick, weak and vomiting. She said her blood pressure was dangerously low. Was this another heart attack? If so, it would be her third one. The ambulance came and brought her to the hospital. All I could say was, “I’m on my way.” I didn’t comment or ask any questions. I simply repeated, “I’m on my way.” That’s all Susan needed to hear.
Jamie immediately got out of bed and started to pack. He didn’t ask me if I wanted him to go. He instinctively knew that I needed the support. We started running around the house packing our bags for a 2 to 3 day stay. We had no idea what we were up against, but a couple of days seemed reasonable. The dog kept looking at us like he knew something was going on. We gave him a treat to acknowledge he was there, but it sat in his bed as he stared at us. I kept muttering “Don’t die Mom, please don’t die.”
We were like two Zombies as it took us a better part of an hour to pack. Passing each other with check lists in our head, we crisscrossed rooms packing the essentials. He looked at my tear-filled eyes and asked, “Are you packing any dress clothes.” I was taken aback because I knew what he meant. “No!” I answered. This trip wasn’t going to end like that. I almost went back to my closet, but decided NO. This was reconnaissance not recovery. I won’t bring my black dress, I told myself. If I brought it, then the outcome might be different. She’s not going to die.
We calmly started the 2 ½ hour trip in his truck with the luggage piled high in the back with our dog, McDermott. It could have been any outing except it was 3:15 in the morning. The dark cold winter roads with moonlit shadows seemed surreal. We were both wide awake on adrenaline and anxiety. He kept assuring me along the way that she would be OK. He is my rock. I noticed that he, thankfully, didn’t turn on the radio because I hate country music. I would sporadically whimper and plead for her to make it. We talked, we prayed, and we hoped for the best. As the sky turned a light shade of gray I felt encouraged that the new day might bring good news.
Turning onto Susan’s street, I felt relieved to be there. What was I going to find out? Dan was called last night too, but his truck wasn’t in her driveway. I found Susan in the kitchen feeling calmer and more collected than on the phone hours ago. Mom was still in the emergency room she told me, and Dan was with her. Susan had to get her daughter off to school, so I decided to go directly to the hospital, as Jamie layed down for a quick nap. He wanted to go too, but I didn’t want to wake him. It was best for me to face the situation myself. So I put on my “big girl panties” and silently headed out.
Once I got the room number and visitor sticker from the front desk, I moved quickly down the hall to the double doors of the emergency room. The security guard buzzed me through. Counting rooms along the wall, I finally came to her room. Moving the blue curtain behind the open door, I first saw Dan sitting by the bed. I registered his signature gray beard and noticed his tired eyes. Then I saw Mom. I wanted to cry seeing proof that she was still with us. However, she was somewhat uncomfortable, white as a bed sheet, and quietly moaning in pain. She was gripping a barf bag, as she had been vomiting all night. Nurses were in and out of the room checking machines and dispensing medicine through her IVs. They were calm and efficient as we sat on the edge of our chairs hungry for more information. Every so often Mom would open her eyes and talk to us.
It didn’t take long for me to acclimate to the severity of her condition. The nurses explained that she did in fact have a heart attack because her enzymes were through the roof. They were medicating her with blood thinners and other drugs I’ve never heard of. At first the doctors were suspicious that she might also have a gallbladder condition because of her belly pain and were preparing for surgery. But after a variety of tests that was eventually ruled out. Slowly, as the day progressed, she started to perk up a little bit and have less discomfort. Her color was coming back into her face and the nausea subsided. She was starting to look like herself.
My Mom is a survivor. Her family history has dealt her a bad hand. I know her heart is not well, and it will never be well. But this particular night, she battled through it. We all did. She always taught us to be tough and continues to show us. None of us are long for this world. But personally, I’m not ready to say goodbye just yet and thankfully neither is she.
