Eleven days ago, I joined the sandwich generation — low sodium bread on one side, whole grain with NO SEEDS on the other.
On Saturday the 12th, my dad had a heart attack; a subsequent catheterization revealed three significant blockages. He had a successful triple bypass six days ago and came home on Sunday the 20th.
***
The first day of my life between the slices was not what I’d call triumphant. I returned from a great eight-mile run expecting to pack Miles up and drive him to a pre-determined meeting point where my mom would pick him up for a week of what we like to call “Camp GrandmaGrandpa.” Instead, as I stood dripping sweat onto the kitchen floor, Brandon was mouthing the words to me:
“Don’t.Mention.Packing.Your.Mom.Called.Your.Dad.Had.A.Heart.Attack.”
***
I call my mom. Twice. She picks up the cell phone and pushes Ignore. Twice. I get in the shower. She calls back. Now I’m dripping soapy water instead of sweat, a slight improvement. She tells me Dad had been shooting a wedding in the hot DC sun the day before and felt ill; the mother of the bride was a nurse and thought he looked ashy. She took his pulse, it was normal. Still, she insisted he loosen his tie and remove his jacket, something he never does at a wedding.
“Larry,” she told him, “We all know you’re a professional, please.”
Mom tells me he finished the wedding, got home, but couldn’t get comfortable.
Sleepless, he nudged her awake. ”Do you think we should go to the ER?” he said. Mom says she had one pant leg on before he finished the sentence. At the hospital, a blood test confirmed that he had, in fact, had a coronary event.
I say, “Should I come? I want to come.”
She replies, “I spilled coffee all over my shirt this morning. So silly, I went home and showered and made myself a hot, fresh cup of coffee — I used your travel mug, you know, the nice one you left here last time you visited? And then I spilled it all over myself. Marc is on his way.”
“I’m coming,” I say.
***
I have to explain to Miles that he’s not going to Camp GrandmaGrandpa this morning. That, in fact, Camp GrandmaGrandpa has been temporarily shuttered.
“Miles, I have some bad news.”
“Well, as long as it isn’t that I’m not going to Grandma and Grandpa’s.”
***
I run to the grocery store, power shopping a week’s worth of groceries in about 20 minutes. I pack a bag and kiss Miles and Eli. I wait for a call from my brother. He calls and says Dad has a room and the cardiologist is coming in soon to talk with him. I have my bag on my shoulder as I’m talking to him. “I’m on my way,” I say. But something is weighing me down. It’s Miles, he’s pulling on my bag and begging to come with me.
“Grandpa had a heart attack because his blood pressure was high.” he lectures me. “When blood pressure is high, it forces the blood through the veins and arteries harder and puts a lot of pressure on them and they can burst.”
“Yes,” I say, marveling my eight-year old’s grasp of medicine.
“See? I know lots of stuff, I’m really smart! I can help. Take me with you.”
I call Brandon over to help remove Miles’s iron grip from around my bag and Miles begins shrieking at the top of his lungs, begging to come with me. Brandon gives me the “JUST! GO! NOW!” look he used to give me when the boys were really small and we were trying to leave for a date. I bolt for the door and run to the car. I’m starting the car and suddenly Miles’s shrieking sounds close again. I look up. He’s running down the walkway toward the parking pad. I stop pulling out, put the car in park, lock the doors. He is pressed against the driver’s side door, wailing and pleading and I’ve never seen him look more pathetic.
My head drops into my hands and I’m sobbing. Brandon follows Miles belatedly up the walkway and peels him off the car. He restrains him long enough for me to drive away. I can still hear him over the motor. I turn up the radio.
***
Over the course of the 3 1/2 hour drive, Miles phones me three times. First, he tells me that Grandma better come and get him in sixty minutes. Then he calls to report that it’s been sixty minutes, so where’s Grandma? Finally, as I am stirring Splenda into my coffee at Rutter’s — the halfway point where I should have been leaving him with Mom — he rings to say that he and Brandon and Eli are going to Lost River Caverns and then to see Journey to the Center of the Earth.
“So,” he says, “At least SOME of us are going to be entertained.”
Whatever works, kid, I think to myself. Whatever works.
***
6 responses so far ↓
Beth // July 23, 2008 at 10:52 am |
don’t leave us hanging. lets hear the rest of the story.
hillarykwiatek // July 23, 2008 at 11:06 am |
Ah, you’re just waiting to see when you enter the story!
Rachel // July 23, 2008 at 10:32 pm |
Oh, Hillary, I was laughing and crying while reading this one. The closing line is such a kicker.
Lane // July 24, 2008 at 4:19 pm |
Clif said to me, “Have you seen Hillary’s blog? Her writing is awesome.” Just checked out the latest, the story about your dad, and Miles not going to Camp GrandmaGrandpa. Wonderful piece… I agree with Clif! Love, L.
Mara // July 24, 2008 at 5:24 pm |
I just made it over from MT to read the entire front story. I know that you’ve been staying with them and it’s been a little rocky. Any better?
This is nicely written.
Gloria // August 6, 2008 at 9:37 am |
I hate being part of the sandwich generation. It’s just too hard. I’m going through something like this with my parents as well. My father has recently lost a lot of weight in a significantly short period of time. He came along with me on my trip to New York in April, and was like another child. He wouldn’t eat, he was always tired and he had constant, severe nose bleeds. I called my sister and had her schedule a Dr’s appt for when we got back. So far, biopsy of the lung and prostate proved inconclusive. GP, Pathologist, Urologist and Oncologist have gotten together to brainstorm to see what the next step is. Meanwhile, my father continues to lose weight and refuses to eat because of his nausea. It’s scary and oh so lonely.
Please keep us updated on your father’s progress. My thoughts are with you and your family.