I took my father to have a cataract removed today. In the grand scheme of things, this was a walk in the park. My dad has survived through several traumatic brain injuries, having both knees replace, both shoulders replace (one of them twice) and a myriad of other medical adventures. Cataract? A piece of cake.
He didn't have instructions on how to get to where we were going. Didn't even have the phone number to the hospital with him. I called around, found out where we were suppose to be, and we got there. As I was making my calls, he was smiling. When I got done, he just looked at me and said "I love you." I'm like my mom, I can get anything done. I can find any information. I make things happen, and he appreciates that in me. He showed me that with just those 3 words. He didn't need to say anymore. I knew.
The promise of anesthesia made it so he couldn't drive himself, so I took him for his procedure. I worked the night before; sleepy sleepy girl. Dad drove to the hospital, and I napped a bit. We got there and signed in. Wait to be registered. I sat down next to him, and he put his right arm out, and I just nestled into his shoulder. I instantly became a 9 year old girl again. I remember sitting on the glider on our enclosed porch in my Holly Hobby nightgown, snuggling into my father's shoulder as a thunderstorm rumbled though. I was afraid of thunder storms, and Daddy made me feel safe. Told me about the angels bowling in heaven. The thunder booms weren't as frightening then. Here I am, a 35 year old woman, I am there to support my father, and with something as simple as his arm around my shoulder and my head on his chest, I am instantly transformed into that little girl again.
I listened to his heart beat. Slow... 54 beats per minute. The nurse in me is a bit concerned about his bradycardic rate, but he is without his coffee this morning, and perhaps my lying against his chest is just as calming for him as it is for me. I can feel the boniness of his shoulder. All the surgeries he has had there has caused muscle atrophy, and while it is comforting, it is also a little sad to think of the loss of function. This is his good shoulder. I think how hard it would have been for him to raise his left arm like this, and am glad that I chose to sit on his right side.
I lean forward a bit, thinking that others might think it strange that a grown woman might be snuggling into this old man's arms. Do they think we are a dirty old man and his young second wife? Girlfriend? Why should I care? It's me and my Daddy. But I do care, and I sit forward.
My father then starts to rub my back. Not a slow soft patting, but really digging in, using his fingers to work the tight muscles in my neck and shoulder. I almost fall asleep. It feels so good. It is such a loving gesture. I almost cry. But if I cry, he will cry, and I don't want to make him cry in public. 10 minutes of this... oh heaven!
They call his name, he can't hear them, but I do, and we go to the registration window. I make sure he has heard what they say to him, repeat what they tell him, ask him the questions over again, because he can't hear them. He hears me, I make sure of it.
Then off to another room to wait. As we sit there, we engage in idle chat about TV, politics, nothing and everything, and I see him massaging his right hand. Now I really fight back the tears. That wonderful back rub he gave me was at a price. His arthritis in his hands is so bad. He doesn't let it show. Very stoic man. He is in constant pain, all over his body. His hands ache every day, but he took the time and the pain, to make me feel good. That's love!
The surgery went off without a hitch. i drove my father back to my brother's house, and went on my way. Back to my apartment, back to my bed. But today, for just a few minutes in a drafty waiting room, I was a little girl again, and my Daddy was my Daddy. I would give up sleep for a week to have that feeling again. I love you too, Daddy.
