“The Nurses Like It.”


Amazingly, Dad is now awake and alert.

I walk in and there’s some drama on his tv—the surgeon turns away, zoom in to the flat blue line on the vitals monitor, quick cut to the hysterical family in the waiting room. It hits me much too close to home. I can’t help but blurt out, “Geez Dad, haven’t you had enough of this hospital stuff?” He moves two fingers of his working hand together and across the empty space in front of him. I place the pen in his fingers and hold the clipboard steady. We haven’t communicated since his stroke, a month ago. I hold my breath as he writes one shaky letter after another until the crooked words descend the page, “The nurses like it.”

A week later Dad’s condition is upgraded and he is moved out of ICU to the telemetry floor. This time, the view is of the rooftop and air conditioning ducts, which is actually more intrinsically interesting to him because of his HVAC business… In any case, we are both happy to sacrifice the view for a better overall outlook.

The uphill struggle begins. Dad is paralyzed on his left side and has lost his ability to swallow—dysphagia. They’ve already put in a g-tube in his stomach to feed him. We believe this is a drastic, hopefully temporary measure, until he recovers…

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