The Key Difference

Last week my father had a seizure and his heart stopped. Luckily for us, a good friend of ours is employed as an EMT and was able to revive my father and stay with him until the rescue squad arrived. They transported him to a small, local hospital. He arrived at the hospital somewhere between 6:30 and 7:00 pm; I arrived at the hospital between 10:00 and 10:30 pm. Again, my father had a seizure and his heart stopped…they are classifying it as a mild heart attack. By 2:00 am we had been released from the hospital and went home with my father.

Over the weekend my baby brother flipped his four wheeler and was med flighted to the local trauma hospital. Upon arrival there and upon multiple tests the doctors were not able to find anything wrong, thankfully. There were no broken bones or ribs, no internal bleeding, no trauma; just some terrible road rash, bumps, bruises, and bangs. Within hours he was back to his goofy self, including using his breathing monitor to make mountains and cowboy hats. He arrived at the hospital between 3:00 and 3:30 pm; I arrived at the hospital between 4:00 and 4:30 pm. Again, there was nothing wrong with my brother besides being a little beat up. By 10:30 pm I was heading home while my mother settled in to stay the night. My brother was released about 12:30 pm the next day.

What was the difference between these two visits to the hospital, besides severity and age? Insurance. My family has pretty decent health insurance and therefore my little brother was covered by Insurance. My father, on the other hand, has been unemployed since January of this year and is uninsured.

Now, the hospital could have just been that poor quality (I would not doubt it); however, what type of hospital sends a man home whose heart has stopped beating within twelve hours of the incident, especially when the patient is still complaining of chest pains and is clearly unwell? There is something clearly wrong with our system here…

Random thoughts explode

Sometimes, events happen in life, however major or minor, and thoughts rummage around in our head for weeks and weeks. These thoughts run around, searching for a release; however, in the meantime, more events happen and the thoughts become louder. This is my attempt to let these thoughts out, after weeks to months of them running loose….

What makes a number?? What property have us humans applied to these meaningless symbols that a certain number will elicit a certain response. These are arbitrary items, with no meaning what so ever, besides what we attribute to them.

This applies to all numbers: age, weight, money, etc… What is about reading a blood pressure machine can make one call the doctor, or a scale make one cry, or an age make death appropriate? Even more so, what makes money what it is? All of it is meaningless, these numbers mean absolutely nothing.

The best example I can give comes from an ordinary textbook for Statistics. If one takes a test and receives a score of 60, that score means absolutely nothing as it is. We cannot attribute anything to that number without more information; it is simply a number that somebody made up. Until we know what the other scores were and the grading scale, the number is simply meaningless.

Yet, the world worships numbers and the arbitrary meanings humans have applied to them. I don’t understand.

September 5th...

Four years ago I received a frantic phone call from my best friend; the unimaginable had happened. It was the beginning of her freshman year at college, and sadly her father had passed away. The date was September 5th. After that frantic phone call, a roller coaster of emotion went through me; I immediately went into action mode. Things calmed down, time has passed, and wounds are still healing.

Flash forward four years and I received another frantic phone call; this time, from my dad’s best friend. Again, the unimaginable has happened, the date was September 5th. The phone call I received this year was slightly different—it was my father having a heart attack and seizure, and he survived…so far. Again, a roller coaster of emotion went through me and I went into action mode.

As many of you know, the relationship between my father and me is not always stable. Until this past weekend, we had not spoken since April. However, even with those emotions and distance, I still jumped in my car and drove the three hours to be by his side in the hospital awaiting answers. Unfortunately, we were in a rinky-dink hospital and we still have no answers. My father has been released and his staying with his dad until he feels better, daily updates have been established.

Now that things have calmed down a bit and I’ve had some time to reflect on the events and the relationship, it saddens me to say that I do not think this is a life altering experience. I am afraid to say that after a few weeks and the scare has all died away; my father and I will drift back into our separate lives; only speaking at holidays and in emergencies. Still, even knowing this and having the strained relationship, I will go running every time.

Yes, there are things fundamentally different about my father and I; there are experiences in the past that cannot be overcome; there is distance that is too deep; but in the end he is my father and I am the only family he has left. I have often wondered why I continue to hang on and give out chances the way I do, even though I know nothing will change. My expectations are no longer what they once were; I am aware that this is how the story goes and honestly, I have accepted it and embraced it. But yet, I still go to his side…and I’ve found because my story has ended radically different than my best friend.

And that’s a key difference. I have lived watching her pain and her regret and it kills me to know I cannot do anything about it. So, for her and for him, I will always go to his side. Even though he doesn’t come running for me, I am a better person then him…

The First Hangover

The transition to eliminating caffeine from my life has been a relatively simple one. I’ve had the withdraw headaches and fatigue, but as far as deep cravings and longings, those were absent. Then, I woke up with my first hangover. The urge for a cold coke and greasy food is never as strong as it is after a night of drinking. Add to that mix the denial of caffeine and the urge for that coke grows even stronger.

I survived. I fed my urge for greasy food with the usual choice of Mexican and replaced the coke with Sprite. It was not the same; however, it fixed the hangover. Later in the day I happened to pass by the Starbucks located in my target and the smell was overpowering, along with the sign announcing the Pumpkin Spice Latte had returned. I wanted to cry.

I have held strong however, I have had zero caffeinated beverages and zero medications that include caffeine. I have; however, had some chocolate, but nothing strong enough to offset the physiological withdrawals I am experiencing. Week two is just beginning.