Musing

0C/32F (high 14C), great sunrise, sound of windshield frost scraping pierces quiet, Gusta seemed to understand that we only had time for a quick p and p walk – more later

inevitably things happen – we don’t plan them or wish for them or understand them, but when they happen we say ‘this is inevitable or that was inevitable’; since his last fall 10 months ago, I’ve not dreaded much about my dad’s health other that fear of ‘his next fall’; a friend in health care cautioned me to anticipate the inevitable - each fall will bring increased risk to his ability to function, the next fall could bring an injury or further decline in function while recovering; since his last fall he’s been more cautious, new shoes have resulted in fewer stumbles - so far no more falls, at least none he’s told me about

I’ve spoken to friends about what I’ve been anticipating/fearing, the next fall; I meant an event, not a season

now, it’s triage I fear; triage, French word for ‘waiting 6.5 hours in the hallway in the care of spectacularly kind helpful paramedics (we were told to be happy because some people wait much longer) where one can witness so many people in far worse shape streaming by, getting attention first because they are in worse shape, older, more frail, in greater need of urgent care; they call that area in the hallway an ambulance with walls – the place where they park ambulance arrivals before actually getting into the emergency room; cold comfort is an understanding that ‘he is not very sick compared to all the others waiting’; so went the afternoon, so went the evening for my dad; he’s spent the night at the hospital getting an uncomfortable tummy problem checked out

when we are little babes we are held by our parents; I have pictures of him holding me – he was strong, grown up and all knowing while I was barely able to walk, I was small, weak and incapable of doing many very basic things without assistance, but time goes on and I grew to be capable of everything – anything – not needing anyone’s help or wanting it; as life moves along the strong man who held me got old, got weak; tables are turned now and it is me who has to look out for him, take care of him, advocate for him; form filling and transportation and asking questions are my roles now, ‘are you sure you took all your pills?’ and picking up things he dropped

I’m heading back there shortly to see how his night passed, to find out what I can find out; there will be a triage nurse behind a triage desk - a glass walled fort - someone to edit ‘how much information I am entitled to’ and when I should have it will direct me to some curtained space containing multitudes of technology and a band-aid or two

there I will find a rumpled wrinkled white haired man who looks a lot like me, only smaller, weaker – needing help to figure out what’s happened overnight, to learn what the day ahead will hold, what the new season will hold - what those nurses, lab techs and doctors learned while we were sleeping; hoping I’ll be told he rested comfortably and that he can go home or that he needs to be observed for a day, I want that to be the end of it, but I also fear his night in a place where the democracy of a backless gown, the indignities of getting short shrift from nurses sprinting at shift-change time, the cynical tone of a doctor who somehow couldn’t understand an old man who had been waiting nine hours to see a doctor being slightly confused about the sequence of events – that inevitably treated as just another chart with boxes to be ticked; sure they are caring but at the same time they look at ‘just another old man with a pain in his belly, just one more of far too many people to cope with as they treat the sickest with so much attention and technology, the least sick with only their left-over energy which seems like only a trickle

before I left last night he told me he thought I was getting better at dealing with people . . becoming more mellow – maybe he is right or maybe I’m more effective when exhausted; I have a new fear – not that falls will be any less on my mind, but my new fear is triage

Mark Kolke
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