Day 21 ICU (March 2, 2012)

Day 21 ICU

(March 2, 2012)

by Katherine L. Szerdy

Once again, I gown up, gloves, a lovely shade of blue.

You’re still with us, Pops.

Recovering from tracheostomy

Rousing from anesthesia

Eyes half open

Pessimists say “Eyes half shut.”

Do you know me, Dad?

Can you see me?

Accordion blue plastic tendrils

     Winding

          Looping

               Crossing

                    Spiraling

                          Reaching

Not Medusa’s snakes

More like Elohim breathing life into Adam

In—2—3—4—Out—2—3—4—Rest—2—3—4—

With Darth Vader-like regularity.

I feel myself standing on the shoulders of giants—

Those great minds who invented all this stuff

In ICU room #1 where you lay silently waging

the fight of your life for three weeks now, Dad. 

Pneumonia---C-Diff----Colonostomy---Pneumonia

A surreal scene like from a futuristic sci fi 1950s flick.

Gives me a whole new respect for plastics…

Tubes, hoses, bags putting stuff in, suctioning stuff out,

pick lines, monitors flashing multi-colored numbers,

your body communicating what planet you're on

“Vitals are stable,” they tell us each day.

Heroic efforts have brought you this far, Pops—

Your nurses MayLin, Megan, Char, Jen…

Dr. Gulati, Dr. Rasmi, Dr. Elkari, Dr. Flores, Dr. Cinti.

Some days you give us a glimmer of hope—

Eyes open a little wider, eyebrows raise, blink twice.

Dad, can you squeeze my hand?

You slightly shift your arm instead.

Will he be able to enjoy another walk on Fairport Harbor Beach?

To buy another lottery ticket—“If I win, I’ll buy each of you kids

    Your dream house!”

Will I receive another carefully chosen birthday card

     With sentiment giving words to feelings he could not easily convey?

Will we ever get to banter back and forth over politics again?
Might he make one more trip to Kraynak’s in Sharon to enjoy

      the Christmas displays and add to his Santa collection?

Will he ever again be able to tool around town in his car with Korean War veteran

     license plate and sporting bumper stickers bragging about grandkids in the

     military?
Might he ever be able to cook another of his tasty meals, spices added?
Will you enjoy a small sliver of your 83rd birthday cake from Happy Cakes?
Will you ever hold your first great granddaughter, Emma Marie?
Will I ever again get to hear "Love you, Sweetheart," at the end of our visit
Or see you wave from the front stoop as we drive away? 

You wouldn’t have, couldn’t have survived this battle ten years ago,

Some of this technology, some of these best practices, weren’t in place.

Yet a decade ago this insidious C Diff wasn’t populating its presence

around the globe in epidemic proportions,

preying on the weak, the elderly, the young—the irony!

Resurrection Sunday, Pops! 

That’s the goal—Easter Sunday

Let’s work toward taking your first step out of here,

A leap of faith--You’re not in this alone.

Goals raise our hearts, lift our spirits, aim our gaze upward.

It’s up to you, Pops…and God’s will.

Hope, Dad.  Keep clinging.

Gown off,  gloves in trash, wash hands thoroughly.

See you tomorrow, Pops.  I love you. 

You know that, right?  You’re my hero—

always have been,

always will be.