WebKittyn Warbles

It's late now, I'm sitting here quietly trying not to let my head mess with me (my mother still refuses to sleep in the bedroom so hysterics are out while she's sleeping on the recliner 10 feet away).

Slept for an hour, got up and we left early for the hospital. On top of it all the weather people were all predicting Armageddon so we were out of the house before 9. Sat with him until they took him up around 10:30, surgery at 11. ICU waiting rooms are very depressing places even if it is a pretty hospital.

One of the doctors I had spoken to earlier in the week who explained the difference between tracheostomy and the dude on tv with the voicebox) had told me he would be able to talk with the trach. They tell us after they took him up that he will not be able to talk at all as long as the trach is in.

Can you say absolutely and totally crushing?

The surgeon came in around 12:30 and said the tracheostomy went fine but they were unable to get the PEG in which means he will have to have a second surgery and more dangerous anesthesia. It didn't dawn on me until later to demand answers as to why they didn't coordinate both at once.

The ventilator was at 100%, his level 92. His mouth was all purple and cracked and swelled out. He didn't look like my dad. They put compression boots around his legs. I went to hold his hand and it was cold.

I am really proud of myself, I didn't break down in the room. My mother was crying, I held my own for her.

We left around 3:30, I wanted to stay but the snow was really coming down. Came home to digest all of it.

When I called in tonight at 10 to check they had the ventilator down to 80% and his level was at 92. This means his body didn't reject the trach and all is well with that. It's a tiny bit of good news and I'm happy for it with all the bad of today.

They said he'll be able to mouthe words, unfortunately I'm not a mind reader. That is if he's okay enough to take out of sedation.

His arms are still restrained, I sit there and look at that and it's like it's not my dad there.

As usual, no one knows anything and all we can do is see how he is tomorrow. My poor mother has to get up and go to work until 2 so I won't get to see him until 3 or so. I want to be there earlier, I want to be there if they let him up for a bit and he's aware. I have no clue if he knows I've been there or not and that's rough.

He loves wolves, always has. Last year I made him a wolf picture, one of those things you follow the lines and scratch the black off with a tool and there's silver foil under it. I have no artistic skill, he caught me working on it and we both laughed at how we thought it would come out. It came out gorgeous. Tomorrow I'm going to bring it to the hospital and leave it on the table.

I was cleaning a bit in here before and I found a picture of him in a Santa suit for my cousin Bonnie's kids, had to be 15 years ago. I cried like a baby.

I know it's just a matter of time before I really lose it. I dread Christmas eve and day. All I want is for my dad to get better.

Welcome to the 10th circle of Hell.