Word of the Post
Today's word is: dramaturgy
/dram"a*tur'gy/ noun
The art of writing and producing plays; the art of dramatic composition and representation.
Sometimes people will call me a Drama Queen; I prefer to be noted for my skill in dramaturgy.
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Thank you all, great and small, for praying for my father. Please continue to do so. I want this to be an isolated, treatable incident. I know that my parents will not be around forever, and I know that they are about 10 years older than many of my friends' parents. It is still so hard to watch a parent be sick, and know that I can do nothing. I am so far away, and so (sigh while I contemplate my words) very helpless when it comes to medical issues. The greatness of God amazes me. He created stars bigger than our whole solar system, and yet He cares about me and my dad.
I suppose one could say that this got out of hand, but I don't think so. My father was sick, I called in the troops. Simple. I don't feel comfortable calling them off just yet. Dad is doing fine. His arteries are not up to snuff, I guess, but the incident was not nearly as bad as I pictured it. I really did not relish the idea of a flying trip home. When I said 13 hours, I meant 15 by myself (more frequent stops to stay awake), all of it spent fidgeting over the parents I could not get to any faster. Let me retrace my panic for you, and elaborate on the truth of the situation.
Dad went about his Wednesday last week as any normal person would. He went to work, he went to lead singing at a funeral for a woman from church, he ate lunch at home and changed back into the work clothes. He drove to and from the funeral, and out from work to make a couple of deliveries. When he got back, he was a little bit disoriented. He decided to call mom. Instead of calling her cell phone, he called her school's office. When they finally tracked her down, she called him back at his work. He, still feeling a little disoriented, couldn't finish the conversation, and handed the phone to a coworker. This was an obvious signal to the coworker. Due to the symptoms she could see, she called my brother (who works in a business right next door), and it was decided that he should go to the emergency room.
My brother drove dad to the emergency room. They parked the van, and took dad in, and got him signed in, complete with insurance card. Someone got mom from her work, and she met brother and dad at the ER. They ran tests, and asked him a lot of questions, and monitored him for two or three hours. The ER Physician guessed that the problem was something called T.I.A.
Transient Ischemic Attack is the official name for what is known as a "warning stroke" or a "mini stroke". I had to look this up just now, because my parents can't pronounce it. It is a precursor to an actual stroke, which usually happens within a year, if not treated. They are attacks that happen suddenly, and quickly. The average one lasts about a minute, and they can last up to five minutes. Dad's major symptom was sudden confusion, disorientation. He did not have slurred speech, and had performed all his normal tasks perfectly before this. The T.I.A.'s have a marked difference from a stroke, in that they do not cause permanent brain damage. They told dad that it is like a spasm in an artery that feeds blood to the brain. The site I found described it as a temporary clot clogging an artery. Not the kind of clot that gangs up on you and moves up to kill you, just a little gathering of the brotherhood, to test you. Dad still has only vague dream-like memories of the day, but has suffered no long-term memory loss. From this, I gather that his T.I.A. probably lasted longer than a minute. There are so many things that could be worse. I am thankful that this is the only lasting effect.
Dad does not remember about six hours of his day. He knows he went to the funeral, led singing, and was even complimented on his job. Blank. He knows there was a pan moved in the kitchen (must have made lunch), and dress clothes on the bed where he left them (next to the little memorial folder to give to mom, who couldn't go to the funeral), and that he went back to work. Blank. He knows from my brother that they gave the insurance card to a man at the desk when they entered the ER, but he didn't recognize the same man, who told him he looked better, as he left. Memory is a tricky and mysterious thing. I don't know what, if any, purpose there is to the loss of memory. Mom has done a lot to encourage dad. He may never remember, and that is OK, because the day wasn't that memorable to begin with. He could have forgotten family, friends, job, or who he is. This reality is way better.
Dad went to the family Physician on Monday this week, and he ran more tests, and has scheduled dad for a Doppler Ultrasound. DH and I were joking around with some church friends tonight after our mid-week service. We said that he would be covered in a lead blanket that was green, to match the green-screened floor. I said that I wanted to see his brain map on TV, complete with weather man: "And there is a storm moving up this artery, we expect a small shower of memories falling out of the right ear... and tomorrow, the drugs kick in! Watch out everyone, he's getting well!" It is good to laugh about the serious things, with good friends. It goes a long way to keeping me sane. The family Physician said that the ER Physician made an accurate guess, and everything he found seemed to confirm the first opinion's diagnosis.
Dad spent Thursday and Friday at home, bored to tears. I am sure he was wanting to do some reloading for his guns, and afraid that if he did he would blow himself up by forgetfulness. I hear he watched a lot of TV, which will "rot your brains!", but what did he have to lose, really? ;-) He tells me, every time I call, that he feels great. I guess the two days of rest really did work for him.
Short answer, dad is going to be on medication like mom is. That is fine with me. This way, I know he is around, and I know that he did not hurt himself or anyone else when it hit. The drugs that will help him will thin his blood, and prevent such clots from forming, and therefore prevent them from moving around and clogging his arteries. I can deal with this. I have the answer I was looking for.
I still say dad just wanted another day off of work. Ha!
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