I took Dad to the Cancer center of North Dakota in GF on Monday. We were seeking a second opinion about his cancer. Altru, where Dad is being treated now, is just too massive. The nurses are great, but we rarely meet a doctor and we feel like we’re an inconvenience rather than their purpose.
The first nurse to great us as the new cancer clinic knew Dad immediately. She had worked with Mom. Actually, Mom was one of her participants in helping the nurse with her master’s degree. She remembered Mom by name and was very concerned about Dad. I liked her immediately.
Next we met with Dr. Noise. Unlike Dr. Walsh (the Altru doctor), Dr. Noise didn’t act like he was in a hurry or like we were an inconvenience. He was very optimistic about Dad’s treatment and was suspect about some of the things Dr. Walsh was trying. What is so frustrating about Dr. Walsh is that the man has no personality. He basically was treating my dad like he was already a goner. Once Dad asked him if he would confer with the Mayo Clinic (for any extra help or cutting edge technology that would save Dad’s life) and Walsh said, “I’m a big boy. I’ve treated thousands of cases. It’s not brain surgery.” What a prick. How would he act if his life was hanging in the balance.
What concerns me is that Dad is growing weaker by the minute. In October Barb, Dad, Kristie, and I went down to the cities for my uncle’s Dick’s funeral. Dad was the picture of health. Now he could hardly move around the house without being winded.
As I dropped him off, he asked if I would keep the phone in my room - just in case he needed to call me to take him to the emergency room. How times have changed! Mom and Dad used to sleep with the phone when I was younger - in case I got into trouble and needed help.
Fortunately, I made it through the night with no call. But when I got up around 5:45 and made my way to the bathroom, the phone rang. The stab that my heart received in indescribable. I can only imagine it was the same pain my parents felt when I had to call them after one of my car accidents. I knew who it was immediately.
Dad needed to go to the emergency room. He couldn’t breath when he was lying down. So I headed straight out to pick him up. I thought, “This is it. I’m going to lose Dad.” I have been prepared for it really ever since Mom passed away two years ago, but I realized that I was not ready yet.
Dad looked pretty glum when I got there. He was dressed and sitting at the kitchen table. He made it to the Blazer, but it took him about 10 minutes to recover from the effort. Before I left, I called Barb and told her that I was taking Dad in (she had a doctor’s appointment lined up for him later that day). She called Dad’s cell phone and said she’d be at the emergency room too. Dad was frustrated that she was going out of her way to help him, but she refused to go back home.
By the time we reached Fisher, Dad’s breathing steadied and it was like old times. We were joking and talking about the weather and cars and Mom. I found out that front wheel drive cars have been around since the 1990s and that they had to move the engine sideways to accommodate front wheel drive. I also found out that Mom and Dad’s first house had no indoor plumbing. They had a big tub which they used to bath in and they had an outhouse in the yard!
Once we arrived at the emergency room, I was relieved. After having Dad in the hospital at Crookston, where they mistakenly treated him for pneumonia, even though he didn’t have the symptoms, and never saw the same doctor twice, these people at Altru were experts. Within the first hour, Dad had several orderlies and nurses helping him and was taken down for ct scans and blood work. Within another hour he had results - blood clots. They were what were causing him to lose so much strength and struggle to breath (his oxygen level dipped to 66. I’m surprised he didn’t pass out during the night and die).
Now he is in ICU. Barb and I followed Dad as the nurse wheeled him up. I had not been to ICU since the night Mom died. As we entered I thought, “Not this again.” Then as she wheeled him to the rooms, I thought, “Please, don’t put him in the same room as the one Mom died in.” Fortunately, he is not in that same room. Barb said later that she was thinking the same thing.
He is on blood thinners to dissolve the clots. But even when he takes his oxygen mask off to eat, his oxygen level plummets and he struggles to breath. But he is in good hands. I hope the clots dissolve and we can get him some new chemo sessions from the new doctors at the cancer center of North Dakota.
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