Over It

There's a lot I'm sick of in this whole situation.  It occurred to me, if a year ago when Dad was in a comatose/vegatative state, that if I had known that a year later, today, he would choose the same way of life - maybe it would have been smarter to leave him there than sing to him every night and will him back to life for me.  Because today, he might as well be in a coma again.  He won't budge off the couch, he won't budge out of bed, he does make his way to another destination in the house only to lie down and be pathetic again.  It's absolutely hideous.  He's had no outing today.  I left him to lie on the couch while Adela cleaned the house - I had work to do.  I had to try and form some semblance of a life/job for myself and went and coached kids in a production of 'High School Musical 2.'  Very fullfilling.  I'm being sarcastic but I have to say it did fulfill me for 4 hours of the day.  I got out - I put my teaching skills and enthusiasm to the test, I got kids to learn choreography and be fabulous at it, and I fulfilled a purpose for the day other than caretaker.  Nice work, Anne.  And then I came home to the pathetic lump on the couch.  I will repeatedly ask myself and my father, WHY DID YOU CHOOSE TO WAKE UP when he has now made it abundantly clear that he prefers sleeping all day and closing us out of his life.  Well I wouldn't let him today, and I won't any day, it's just the time and place within the day that I decide to put up the fight.  And this afternoon, I made it his job that we were going to walk the dogs to the corner.  THE CORNER. Not to the stream nearby, not around the block, not down the street, but the corner.  And that was a feat.  Dad has scars on his arm to prove it, I have bruises on mine.  But I pulled the big guns out today and went all Annie Sullivan on his Hellen Keller ass and with force, succeeded to get him out the door, leash + dog in hand, and up to the corner.  His one outing of the day.  He bitched and moaned all the way through.   Example:  "I can't.... it's cold, I have nothing on my arms."  me: "it's fucking 105 degrees out, Dad you'll be fine."  Dad: "I need a jacket."  me: "fine - you hold the dogs I'll get you a jacket, we're going to the corner."  then throughout the twenty-five foot jaunt to the corner: Dad: "I'm turning around, why am I doing this, I'm going back."  me: "Dad - you used to walk 15 miles around this neighborhood and you can't get your sorry ass to the corner?! walk!!! we're going! it's your only obligation for today.  you've laid on the couch ALL DAY.  you're walking to the corner."  Dad: "no I'm not." Me: "yes you are!"  then some pushing ensued.  Me: "don't you dare push me in public. I'll back off if you can prove to me you can walk the dog five more feet to the corner."  He picks up the pace.  We make it to the corner.  Me: "good!!!! look at that! you did it!  you're amazing!  we can go home now."  I turn my back to him and prance back towards the house.  done and done.  his one obligation for the day fulfilled.  And believe you me I left out a good chunk of juicy details and 23 minutes worth of pushing, pinching, scratching, spitting to get him out the door to the corner.  But I succeeded.  And my father can say he did something for his day.  I don't care about the physical shit -- he knows he's capable of more, he woke up from an impossible coma after all, he came back from the dead -- he can walk to the corner if I have to get some battle scars from it.  

He's now out on walk #2 of the day with Mom.  We had a pleasant dinner on the patio -- fried chicken, music, vino.  He loosened up and didn't let this morose, pathetic state of being get the best of him.  And by loosened up I mean didn't cop out behind being asleep the entire time nor did he whine like a 2 year old.  He ate, he hummed to the music, and when Mom suggested a walk with the dogs, he cleared the dinner plates and went to get the leashes.  Success and contentment for a good 50 minutes.  The evenings are always better.  It must feel more routine, normal and natural.  As opposed to the mornings where he doesn't know why he's getting his ass out of bed and it's so ridiculously slow and sad and tedious.  I tried a new tactic this morning and played into his baby-ness.  "awww Daddy, aww you're so sleepy.  I'm so sorry.  You have to get up and put your clothes on!  oh you can't?  here okay, I'll help you." and I stick his feet into his shorts while he lies in the fetal position on the bed in his bathrobe. "come on, Daddy!  you can put your shorts on the rest of the way."  He keep his eyes tightly shut and kicks the shorts off his ankles.  "okay.  I'll let you do it yourself."  I say in my most babying voice possible.  "You get dressed Daddy and I'll go fix your bottle -- uh bagel.  did I say bottle? I meant bagel."  And I left.  And no doubt, 10 minutes later, he came downstairs, fully dressed. 

I don't know what the point of this blog is but I feel you deserved some detail and perspective. Welcome to the daily life of David.  Ta-da!!!!!!!!

Fullfillment

I felt fulfilled today, in my life, for the first time since before my Dad's incident.  And it had nothing to do with him.  I felt extremely proud, I felt complete in my soul, I felt happy, loved, and successful.  And again, it had nothing to do with him.  It had nothing to do with being the dutiful daughter, or the free-time caretaker, it had to do with me and my skills alone.  Today marked the end of camp at the Theatricum - a five week long drama camp, that takes place just three days a week.  I don't know how else to go into it but to just say that I had THE BEST group of 17 eight and nine year olds one could imagine.  But I know that they were only the best to me because I set the tone 5 weeks ago, and I extracted every ounce of positive energy and excitement, and creativity and playfulness, that has been buried underneath this fortress of strength I've created around me for the past year.  I led a successful group of campers into feeling proud about their play, having fun and making new friends, taking risks they didn't think they'd take.  I have a stack of paper cards with marker scribbles of "I love you Anne!!! You're the best teacher I ever had!  Thank you for always being so fun!"  After being a camp counselor on and off for the past decade, I can honestly say I've never left a group of campers at the end of the summer feeling quite so proud and with a sense of completion - like I did my job to make these kids more confident, happy, and open their eyes to something special.  okay I realize this is getting cheesy and redundant, but what's pivotal is that I'm so afraid of losing this day and this feeling.  When I hugged my campers today for the last time, (I got them in a big huddle on the stage) and I looked at them and I thanked them for all they did for me this summer - for filling three days of the week with their cheeriness, their positive energy and fearlessness, their friendliness and compassion for everyone in the group and for me.  I told them they have no idea how much they meant to me on a daily basis.  And I started to cry, and they all looked around the circle, smiling curiously with their own pride - knowing they gave something back to me.  Because they have no idea what I come home to, and what I leave in the morning.  And no idea how their smiles and carefree hugs mean so much more to me.  

Then it hit me like the wind being knocked out of me.  What will I do with myself now?  This was the one thing to call my own for a brief while - and it fulfilled me so happily.  Now it's over - and I'm left truly wondering what is next.  My life, just like my Dad's in a way is a big open oasis.  What will we do with our time??  My success with these kids got me thinking all sorts of other things... should I give up acting/writing and go teach first grade??  Or maybe I could fuse all this recent personal experience and become a speech therapist for kids.  New thoughts just start snowballing.  And then I think, but where's the time to do this, and when will I have it?  

Then another blow to the chest came while I was taking Jenny on a brisk hike to blow of the steam that was created from Dad when I got home.  (Upon arriving from my amazing, successful day, Dad proceeded with his usual completely ignorant bullshit tired-routine and didn't move a muscle or look up to regard my cheery hello.  Fuck you I casually tossed back to him and grabbed the leash and bolted out the door.)  Then a thought like I've never had before hit me hard and shocked the breath out of me swiftly. -- I loved these kids so much, and they loved me... I'm gonna be a good mom one day.... if I do ever have a kid, they'll never know my Daddy.

Separation

How interesting it is to be living away and alone for a mere 5 days in this facilitated escape from reality. I'm feeling a touch lonely, a touch anxious, a touch disconnected. My immediate companions are my amazing dog-cousins Stogie and Dunkleman. Thanks to Uncle Bob and Marianne's Hawaii vacation, I get a little escape in their Encino abode. And it feels wonderful and unusual all at the same time. It's been a year since I've lived truly alone -- on an average Tuesday night in this day and age I would probably have the same amount of nothing to do except Dad would be in the next room bored and waiting for me to upstart some activity. Hmmm... do I miss him? I don't know. If anything, the separation makes me miss my real Dad, and realize how I long for him without recognizing it, and how long I've been without him, and how I never have grieved nor will I ever in the near future. And I feel bad that Mom is stuck at home these 3 days with the mad-Dad and she's insisting I give myself a break away and I feel a little guilty and bad that I'm not helping and that she has no break. But I digress... this whole "missing" thing is a double-edged sword. No - I don't miss my home life right now, it churns my stomach to think what daily life is really like at home. And then I think... I do miss my mad-Dad I guess, but does he miss me? Is his mind wondering where I am right now? And why I haven't been home? Has he asked for me (Robin) lately? I'm pretty damn sure he hasn't asked for Annie. But if he doesn't miss me... why should I spend time missing him with all I give and sacrifice for him already? I should enjoy this house to myself, these endless loving labradors who are by my side every second, and the freedom to do whatever I want and waste the night away.

In truth, it feels too peaceful and quite incomplete on so many levels.

******31 Minutes later*******

Just got off the phone with my crying Mom and my suprisingly perky Poppa. Mom handed him the phone, and I get a cheery "Hey!!! What's happenin?!" It's like a deflated balloon inside my soul was swiftly inflated with helium. "Hi, Daddy! I'm good. How are you??" I say. "We're doing good... where are you?" he replies. "I'm housitting for Uncle Bob in Encino." "ohh!! You're not too far away." he says happily. :) And the rest of the conversation ensued in cheerful obvliousness on his part and loving satisfaction on mine. He was happy to talk to me. He said he missed me. And me being away and out of the house -- that's normal to him. And most of all, he said, "Love you" first - before hanging up the phone. So I could reply, "I love you too." He's there. I brought him out of his depressed, brain-damaged funk for 5 mintues. I sort of just want to hug him now.

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.  

Man in the Mirror

Exactly one year ago tomorrow, my Dad suffered from cardiac arrest.  Today, Michael Jackson did.  Only difference is, Jackson died.  ("Cardiac arrest" quickly turns into "cardiac death" after approximately 10 minutes in most cases... read on.)  I sort of can't believe it.  The first real legend of my generation is gone.  And personally, it strikes a weird cord.  His death would sadden me regardless; after countless memories of watching 'Moonwalker' throughout my childhood, and being 16 years old blasting 'Man in the Mirror' and singing at the top of my lungs behind the wheel of my white ford explorer, even just a couple weeks ago - I popped my own MJ mix into my car system and rocked out to 'Black or White' with friends on the freeway.  But with this event ushering in the anniversary of my father's own cardiac death, it oddly takes some of the sting away.  I've been anticipating this date all week... all year I guess, but particularly fearing it this month, and I guess, cheesy enough, Michael Jackson's death in this capacity is the universe's way of reminding me that indeed, "You are not alone"... 

According to this informative Q&A for those seeking more verification on Michael's death:

Q: What might have happened in Jackson's case?

A: Jackson most likely had ventricular fibrillation, an electrical disturbance of the heart that occurs when the heart begins beating 400 to 500 times a minute — much more than the normal 70 to 75 beats, says Douglas Zipes, emeritus professor at Indiana University School of Medicine and former president of the American College of Cardiology. (sounds familiar)

"When you look at the heart in ventricular fibrillation, it looks like a bag of squiggly worms," Zipes says. "The contractions are totally ineffective. ... Therefore, no blood is pumped to the brain, causing him to black out.  

Q: What can you do for someone in cardiac arrest?

A: Sudden cardiac death occurs within minutes unless someone gets the heart working again, either through CPR (cardiopulmonary resuscitation) or with a defibrillator, which uses an electrical shock to get the heart pumping correctly.

Brain death begins in just four to six minutes, so restarting the heart quickly is vital, the American Heart Association says.  (wow... Dad was already gone in just 4-6 minutes... who knew...)

CPR can buy patients time until they can be shocked with a defibrillator, says Abhi Mehrotra, assistant professor of emergency medicine at UNC-Chapel Hill. By compressing the chest, rescuers circulate blood and get oxygen to vital organs such as the brain.  

A victim's chances of survival go down 7% to 10% every minute that passes without CPR and defibrillation. Few people are revived after 10 minutes, the heart association says. (just 10 minutes?? try 13.)

According to a fact I overheard on the news, 5% of people survive a sudden cardiac arrest.  Just 5%.  I wonder what the reaction would be like if Michael had made that 5% cut like my Dad did.  If he lived the next few years of his life in a wash of memories and confusion, all in the public eye.  As if the poor superstar didn't receive enough media criticism and lunacy already.  Hmm, at the end of the day he'll be remembered for the amazing legend he was... quite a blessing I guess.

I don't know what's worse... that my Dad is here today, to cuss at me and call me by the wrong name, or that because he surpassed those 10 minutes, his legend as being the best father and man in the world is slightly tainted and diminished, rubbed away with each passing day.  No no, the man he was will always remain with me - ALWAYS - but it's hard to keep that legend present amidst the reality of today.  I wonder what man he sees when he looks in the mirror tomorrow morning... maybe a little bit of the legend he was a year ago, mixed with the madness of a man he feels today.  I don't really know... I still can't really tell.

R.I.P M.J -- I'll miss you too.

Pinch Me

Everything's coming full circle.  All of the sudden I feel like we're rushing into this huge, scary abyss where this past year will become more of a reality and life as I knew it before was a sweet, happy, dream scenario.  I can't handle that Father's day is now a day away.  Last years is still so so fresh and palpable.  I remember deciding to join Dad at the boat that Saturday, last minute, on my way back from the theatre in Topanga.  And turning left to head to the valley and back to my apartment, than chatting briefly on the phone with Dad and thinking - ya know, fuck it - it's father's day weekend - there's nothing holding me back from being with him, I'll head to the boat.  And I whip my Prius around on Topanga canyon and head to PCH and onto Long Beach.  Where we promptly hopped in the dinghy - just Dad, me and the dogs (Melvin and... Margot), two beers in hand and two in the boat, and we set off for a Dad/Daughter dinghy cruise in the afternoon.  wow - it feels so real to think about, so available... but so distant at the same time. 

Anyway, upon returning to the boat from our cruise, Mom arrived - and somewhere in the mix Margot ran away.  To which I went screaming up and down the bike path, "MARGOT!!!! MARGOT!!!" and the drunks down the dock would shout back, "POLO!!!!!" (( yes - this story works much better in person. )) and meanwhile Dad is truly panicking for he LOVED this stupid dog to death.  I finally see her all the way at the beach and I scream, "MARGOT! GET OVER HERE!" I scoop her up in my arms and walk back towards our dock.  I hear the drunks yell, "OHHH Margot's the DOG!"  and my Dad comes rushing towards me, and I drop the canine into his arms and say, "happy Father's Day."  

I spent the night on the boat that night, and we all went out to breakfast the next morning.  Very mellow, nothing special.  In fact it just felt a little bit eerie.  Dad didn't order his usual biscuit and gravy because he was trying to be healthy and good.  I thought he'd make an allowance for himself on Father's day of all days but no, he was trying to get healthy.  Damnit, Dad you should have just had the biscuit and gravy loaded with lard.

And now here we are today - 1 day away from Father's day, 7 away from the one year anniversary.  And in this one day today, Dad completed his term at CNS.  (or insurance completed it for him granting us no more coverage and promptly leaving the rest of his days and future open and free.)  So the folks at the clinic gave him a little celebration - there was a cake (red velvet), and a certificate, and a present - the game 'Sequence'.  there were hugs and lots of tears on behalf of my parents.  I felt sort of apathetic about it all.  CNS didn't fulfill it's expectations for me; not in Encino, and definitely not in Bakersfield.  If anything it dramatically burst my bubble of hope for my father's recovery.  and it's almost like he's more dead now than ever and extremely far from healed.  I remember when we first started at CNS, there was a graduation day for another client.  And that client gave a speech, and thanked the therapists for helping them on this journey and for everything they did for their recovery.  And the client apologized for the difficult times and the bitching and refusing they did in the beginning.  But ultimately thanked them for making them a better person and giving them a quality of life.  I remember standing there, so excited, imagining what Dad's speech would sound like when his day was done there and he could thank the therapists for helping him heal and come back to life.  He couldn't give a speech today, there was no understanding of the significance.  There was some understanding due to the attention around him... but the details of it all, of course not.  Dad wandered around the room and up and down the hall, crying and emoting and probably feeling incredibly overwhelmed and confused and insecure.  Mom gave a teary speech, and all Dad could do was add on to it with a brief but genuine, "yeah... thanks."  Then he blew his nose and motioned to me to get out of there.  

So we left in 2 cars - and I promptly had to race back to Toluca Lake to office #1, grab 2 tapes and then head to Dad's previous office, and proceed to fix an edit for a client.  These were the offices I would visit Dad at in the past, at least once a week.  I would race up the stairs to my Dad's lair and pop my head around the corner - then poke around on his desk or at another computer before he took me to lunch or happy hour or something fun like that.  But today I raced up those stairs to sit down and supervise an edit in his old edit bay, filling his shoes, while he was on his way home with my Mom - riding in the passenger seat with his CNS Brain rehab certificate in hand.  

it still doesn't feel real.

the real June Gloom

hello world, how are you? i'm fine i guess. I don't really know what I'm supposed to be doing. back from Maui and bless my sunburned back for being a constant reminder of those four days of free-living and carelessness. and now i don't know what to care about. It's all the same. I maybe felt rejuvenated for five minutes but mostly it just felt like the plane landed back in a perpetual cloud. Maybe that's just the june-gloom. and maybe I haven't adjusted to being done with "vacation" yet. but I don't know what to do with myself and I'm pretty sure you don't either. Time feels messy and blurry. It's out of my control. And the countdown to the one year anniversary of my father dying is definitely on. Have you all missed him for this year? This one, swift, hideous year. I miss him more all too painfully everyday. I hate where i am right now. Sitting in his office. waiting for a package to arrive. this isn't fair. sitting here. I can't do this anymore - there are a million other important things that i should be doing with MY time but I don't know how to start them. or at least I don't know how to start them today. I'll find it in me at some point, I always do, the courage and smiles always muster themselves back up from somewhere, but for now - welcome to my cloud.