Somethings Wrong

Today I would like to share a part of my book in its unedited form.  The following scene is of the day that my life forever changed.  We all have those moments of one door closing and another opening in our lives.  On this day the door to my whole world closed.

It was June 27^th 2015, my Dads 81st birthday and the day we discovered Deans tumor. Coming home from a two-week vacation from Vancouver to Tofino, ending in Victoria BC the day before, was exhausting and I had done all the driving since Dean had not been himself. What little he had drove made me nervous as he continuously tailgated anyone he approached across the Vancouver Island pass, causing me to become very agitated. It had been a blessing that we had decided to leave for home a day early.  The weather in Victoria BC was sunny and warm and we had reservations for one more night in a beautiful room overlooking the Harbor.  For some reason, while waiting for breakfast to be served in the dining room, we looked at each other and both said

“I want to go home.”

 

We packed up our suitcases and checked out of the hotel, forfeiting the pre-payment on our very expensive room.  Dean was unusually quiet but I assumed it was because he was tired or anxious to get home.  I drove us to the ferry terminal where we waited the next two hours for the boat to arrive.  The ride seemed to take hours before docking in Anacortes.  There, we disembarked and drove through customs, which took another hour.  By then, it was dark out and the air was humid with just enough bite that I needed to wear a sweater.  As I drove the last couple of hours to get home, I could not help but notice that he stared straight ahead with a blank look on his face.  I kept asking if anything was wrong as he was just so silent and had not initiated conversation since leaving Anacortes.  He had become very withdrawn over the last few months, so it did not strike me as odd that he was so quiet, but I could not help notice the lack of sleeping during the drive.  In the past, he would easily fall asleep with his mouth open, or snore, when I would drive home from date night or a late dinner.  Internal silent alarms went off in my brain, but I did not know what to make of this unusual behavior. We got home around midnight and went straight to bed, dumping our suitcases in the hall as we walked in the front door.

I awoke the next morning, invigorated to start my day.  I had a lot of work to tackle from being on vacation.  I was up early and left Dean to sleep in.  I made his coffee and started cleanup of the suitcases that were dropped hastily and strewn about from coming in at a late hour.  Eventually, I decided to get a jump on my work for our business.  As I worked on the computer with single minded intensity, Dean finally woke up to have his morning coffee.  Eventually he walked by my office and asked

 “What are you up to for the day?”

“I am working.” I told him.

 “I am going to head to Hannah’s (my youngest daughters) house, and pick up the mail and accounting program to get the checking account updated for the business”.

“I’m going to get busy too.”  “I want to work in the yard and clean up the flower beds.” He replied.

Another half hour went by and he meandered down the hall again passing by my office.

“What are you doing today?”  he said

 “Hmmm? I thought to myself that is weird, didn’t he just ask me that?”

 I replied absently again,

 “I’m working.” while reviewing the emails I needed to answer.

He then replied “Sounds like my day too.”

My subconscious was alerting me that it was strange he wasn’t already outside.  He never lingered in the morning, especially when he had a lot to do.  Because my mind was distracted, I brushed the unsettled feelings aside and left the house to head to Buckley where my daughter lived.  Once there, I went over work issues with Hannah but persistently had a nagging feeling that I needed to get home.  My daughter, her husband, Enrique and grandsons (Montego and Ruben) were headed to Buckley days (the annual local fair) and I toyed with the idea to go with them, but still had this subconscious urge to leave.   I said my goodbyes and decided to not stop at the grocery on the way home to pick up fresh food for lunch.  I really needed to get some meals in the house since we had been on vacation for two weeks but I couldn’t stop the unsettled feeling of needing to go straight home.

No sooner than I had pulled into the garage and got out of the car, Dean walked up to me from behind, coming from the open garage door.  He was very dirty with black mud all over his shins, arms and hands and sweat covering his brow and neck.  He was visibly upset.

“Hey Babe?” I said questioningly, he immediately started to cry and alarmed, I asked him what was wrong.

 In tears, he said

“I can’t figure out how to get in the house.”

I was confused but instantly reached out and hugged him noticing his t-shirt was damp with perspiration. He began to sob on my shoulder and I could tell it was from fear and emotional panic.

“It’s ok” I said.  “You are alright” I soothed as I spoke into his damp neck.

I immediately thought he must have had heat stroke.  He had been working in the garden all morning and it was very hot and humid out.  I led him to the back stoop and asked him to take his shoes off.  He just looked at me crying, not knowing what I was asking.  He did not know what to do.  I helped sit him down and removed his muddy shoes.  As I led him into the house he kept rambling about how he couldn’t figure out how to open the door.

 “You must have heat stroke.” “Let’s get you cleaned up and cooled off and I will try to figure things out.”

I stripped him of his clothes and asked him to get in the shower.  In addition to his confusion untying his shoes, he could not figure out how to turn the water on.  I quickly turned the shower knobs to the correct temperature, cleaned him up and got him into bed.  As he slowly calmed down, I asked him to rest and I went into the office to research his symptoms.  When I googled heat exhaustion, it alarmed me that when it effects a person’s mind, it is usually a sign of a stroke. Once I discovered that tidbit of information I realized I had better call 911.  After I made the call, the Fire Department showed up quickly.  They descended into the house like a swat team.  Several men surrounded Dean in the bed making the room look small.  They looked foreign in our bedroom that is normally our private sanctuary, and I squirmed inside wanting them to hurry and help Dean so that they would leave. 

As they ran tests, the EMT asked Dean what year it was.

He replied “1995?”.

Who is the president?”

Again, he replied incorrectly “Bush”?

At this point, I’m screaming in my head

“WHAT?”  “Something is VERY wrong here.”

One of the firemen, or EMT’s suggested he may have had a stroke or a TA he called it.  They thought it was best to take him to the Hospital.

Which one?  I asked.

“How about Valley Medical?” he suggested. 

I balked and said “NO, I want him to go to Group Health in Bellevue.”

I had heard bad things about Valley Medical and even though it was closer, I didn’t want their doctors examining Dean.

“His doctors are at Group Health, I want him to go there.” I again demanded.

They argued a bit but finally agreed to go the extra distance.  I left the room while the busily prepared to shift him from the bed to the stretcher and take him by ambulance to Overlake Hospital.

As I came outside on the porch, one of our neighbors, Randy, was standing there.  He just looked at me and stepped forward to give me a hug.  I completely lost it and started sobbing on his shoulder.

“I’m scared” I said.  “Something is really wrong with him.”  I think he had a stroke”.

 I don’t remember what he responded with.  It didn’t matter as nothing would make me feel better.  Somehow, I knew things were never going to be the same and as I stepped off the front porch, the dread in my stomach intensified.  I never did remember to call my dad and wish him a happy birthday.