THE FIRST WHAMMY

Fortunately, the hospital was just down the street. So I could easily walk there to visit my father. Dad hated hospitals, or anyone else telling him what to do. After a week, his doctor wanted to transfer him to Palm Beach Gardens for triple bypass surgery. My father was insistent he wanted to come home first. His reasoning was that he had grown too weak in the hospital to survive surgery.

Around 11:00 PM, his first night home, both toilets at opposite sides of the house backed up and started overflowing. I mean like a fountains! I had to hurry and roll-up the expensive Oriental rugs. Dad started to complain his chest hurt. I gave him a nitroglycerin pill to place under his tongue. Then I phoned 911.

A policeman arrived first, then the paramedics. I also called a 24 hour plumber. My father sent me to get our neighbor Pete and his wife who lived down the river. They were in their bedclothes. They came, and Pete's wife, Mandy helped me sweep the water out of the house, which was now filled with people. It was a nightmare scenario!

My father refused to go back to the hospital. The paramedics checked him out and left.
After a month of home recovery, we got Pete to take Dad to the hospital in Palm Beach Gardens. It was nearly an hour south of us. I could not get that fortune-telling message out of my head. Plus I was told by a number of people that I had to prepare myself in the event my father did not survive.

Soon after Dad's surgery, Pete drove me down to visit. It was the first time I'd ever seen my father feeble. Always he had appeared and acted young for his years. Now he had aged dramatically in a short period of time. It made me sad to look at him, also scared.

My father was expected to be released right before Thanksgiving. We had to be out of house before the end of the following January. I had already started packing.

I was still in bed at 7:00 AM when the phone rang. A weak voice on the other end kept repeating, "Go,go,go!" My father was eager to come home. I said as soon as I ate breakfast, washed, fixed my hair and make-up we'd be down. He told me I could do all those things after I came home. His voice rose. He ordered me to get Pete now, and get down there!

I skipped breakfast and make-up, but I did wash myself and fix my hair. Then I had to wait for Pete to get ready.

At the hospital, Pete waited in the car while I went up to get Dad. My father was still attached to tubes connected to a metal pole. He told me they would unhook him downstairs. I helped him dress and collected his possessions. Dad carried the pole as we stepped into the hall. As we walked past the nurses station toward the elevator, a nurse pointed to us, and shouted, "Patient escaping! Patient escaping!" Seems he was trying to pull an Avis!

We were then informed that my father had not yet been released by the doctor. Dad was perplexed and petulant. He kept insisting the doctor had told him he could go home. The staff told him they had no knowledge of this. My father ordered me to find the doctor.

Fortunately, his office was close-by. The secretary said the doctor would not be in until that afternoon. I explained the situation and she seemed sympathetic. She said my father's attitude was probably the reason he had the heart attack in the first place. She agreed to call the doctor. An hour later, my father was officially released.

He came home wearing a urinary catheter. Visiting nurses came briefly to tend him. Most of the care fell to me. My father was as helpless as a small child, but was expected to improve quickly. While he was in his weakened condition, I slept over in the main house in the same bed with him.

The last time I had slept in the same bed with my father was when I was 23. We were on a trip in Mexico with Avis. My mother was still alive, but at this point was unaware of Avis's existence. In some of our hotel rooms there was only one king-size bed. I actually slept in the middle between my father and his mistress.

I believe it was about the third night, Dad's catheter became unattached. Most of the urine went on the floor. I cleaned it up, while Dad managed to reattach his catheter. Also my father required help shaving and dressing. Soon this would be our every day routine.

We believed the triple by-pass would add 10 years to my father's life. Little did we know that it was only the first of a triple whammy. And the third one would be fatal.