Another 4th of July

This is now the second year in a row I've missed fireworks on 4th of July.  I can hear them outside my window right now.  Big. Crackly. Booming.  I guess what makes this year different is that I'm missing them by choice.  I'm not sitting in the dark depression of the Coronary Care Unit watching my father flail about in his hospital bed, breaking out in fevers and spitting and spewing and sweating and moaning while his eyes stared blankly into space with no reaction or connection.  These were the most hideous days.  The in between days of Coma-to-Awake where the "Persistent Vegetable" that he was moved and thrashed and sweated and moaned and then lay still and then did it all over again while nurses, my Mom, and myself were changing sheets and pillows every 5 minutes and then moving his massive body back to the center of the bed only for it to move and thrash minutes later and almost fall out again.  Oh god those were some days.  I remember so many little disgusting details when I put my mind to it.  Like the sea-foam green little swabby sponges that the nurses used to swab the icky, crusty, saliva buildup out of his mouth - and how if a nurse hadn't come around for a while I'd get in there with the sea-foam sponge myself.  I remember it was on 4th of July that they switched us out of the fancy new SICU (surgical intensive care unit), which was clean and beautiful with amazing attentive nurses and back to the dirty old CCU with Alice-the-inept RN who spoke no lick of English in any audible tone.  Ugh that was so awful -- and it was 3 days there before we got moved back to the beautiful new wing of Glendale Adventist and into the environment that became the turning point in this journey.  The Neuro Telemetry Unit.  Room 101.  Where Dad woke up 4 days later in the loving care of the best nurses in the world.  

Wow - this world is so much more livable now that everyday I think about where I was a year ago.  I guess that'll change come August 27th when Dad was discharged and the spiraling journey of therapy took off.  July 4th was also the day I started writing it all down in my red journal.  It took me a week before I could put the experience on paper - because that of course would make it real, and permanent.  I was waiting to actually believe this fate was happening before I could write about it, and that it wasn't really just my worst nightmare.  And when I didn't wake up, and I knew I was already awake, in that moment - I decided to write it down.  Every doctor's conversation is documented, every new moment, every new awakening, Dad's first scribble, his first signature, newspaper clippings from when the Dodgers signed Manny, hospital bracelets, business cards, random notes... it's quite a collection to behold.  I can't crack it open yet - it's still fresh enough in my mind.  But I will when I'm ready - and I plan to recreate it for you all to take part in - one day, in some way shape or form.  

Though I've now officially missed the fireworks, today was a sparkling, lovely, day.  We took Dad to the boat.  We saw all of his friends, there were hugs and tears and so much love.  He walked up and down the docks, taking this familiar, fun environment in.  He took a dinghy ride or two, and ate about 4 hot dogs off the grill.  Melvin even came to see all the boat buddies.  It was truly a blast, for all of us involved.  The boat - where we spent almost every 4th of July, on the water, partaking in the super-soaker battles and watching the dinghy boats parade in red white and blue decorations, then seeing the fireworks blast off the queen mary from the dock - we were able to be back there today, despite everything we're lacking now, we were able to return.  It'll never be the same.  But it's better than the CCU.