Today marks one of the saddest days of my 28 years, the death of my beloved grandfather Papa. Its been four years, but it seems to me like it was yesterday. Its a wound that is still fresh and being rubbed with salt. People tell me that I need to move on and not be sad, but that just isn’t me. I loved him, we were buddies, family and he wasn’t even my biological grandfather, but that didn’t mattered not to either one of us.
So why write a post four years after his death? Lots of reasons really, but most off all because I miss him more then words can express. Second, I can nolonger bite my tongue with my anger towards Kaiser Permanente. This maybe a long post, but it was very hard for me to write, because it means I have to relive Papa’s death. But telling my story eases a little bit of the pain.
It started on a Sunday morning in July. It was beautiful and I had woken up late due to hanging out with friends late the previous night. My friend David was in town and we were hanging out with my other friend Nina and having a blast. I stumbled over to my computer and started chatting with Nathan, my usual morning routine. The phone rang, but I thought my parents would answer it thinking I was still asleep. Then the phone rang again, and my stomach churned. I ran to the phone and on the other line was my Aunt Sheri.
“Nana thinks Papa had a heart attack!” She exclaimed.
Iflew down the stairs and ran into the garage where my parents were yelling at the top of my lungs: “Papa had a heart attack! Papa had a heart attack!” Then life started to move in slow motion, even though it happened all in an instant.
My mother and I jumped into her convertible Sea Bring and drove as fast as traffic would allow to my grandparents house. We pulled up and there were firemen and EMT all over the place, most were upstairs working on my grandfather. I went into shock and flipped out, I couldn’t believe this was happening! The strangest thing was a week before my grandparents had come over to my house to have me help them book a flight to Maine, but as I hit the last button to order the tickets I had a dreadful feeling that my grandfather wouldn’t be flying to Main. I couldn’t explain the feeling and I had never felt something like that before. So I cleared it out of my mind and thought it a silly thought. I should have listened to myself.
I stood in the corner crying hysterically, I was completely freaking out. Then my grandmother asked “Please don’t.” And I stopped. I thought to myself, I have to be strong for her, if nothing else for her. This was going to be a hard time for not only myself but her.
Finally they resuscitated my grandfather, but he had been not breathing for sometime. A lack of oxygen for that long period of time wasn’t good. They wheeled his blue body past us and to the ambulance, I knew this was real now, I knew I wasn’t dreaming,and this wasn’t some kind of sick joke; it was real. I was about to lose the most important person in my life.
We followed the ambulance to the San Clemente Hospital where the doctors stabilized him. We called my father to meet us there and I asked him to bring me my phone. I completely ran off without telling Nathan what was going on and I desperately needed to talk to him; I felt numb inside. When my father got there we were still waiting in the lobby, we waited for what seemed like eternity before we had word that they did all they could do and had to transport him to Mission Viejo Hospital were they needed to preform a Heart Stent surgery.
My mother, aunt and grandmother followed the ambulance to Mission Hospital. I wanted to go, but my father said “Not dressed like that”. Granted I was in a tube top that I wore the previous night and short little sweat shorts and a scruffy pair of flip flops… not to mention I hadn’t been able to brush my teeth. I agreed with dad and rode home with him to dress and once there tried to call Nathan, but he had gone to work and my heart sunk even deeper.
Once dressed my father drove me to the Hospital. I remember babbling on and on about the string theory that I had learned about a few days ago. I wanted to talk about something other then the emending doom I felt, something to ease my mind, if only for a moment even if it was temporary.
Once there, we were ushered to a special waiting room, there I found my younger cousins and hugged them, along with everyone else. Once the surgery was complete and successful the doctors informed us he was in a coma. My aunt explained to me he was hooked up to a machine that displayed these numbers, forgive my ignorance but I can not recall what it was called. Once the numbers hit a certain point, he would wake up. I wanted to believe so much that he would wake up. My aunt told me to touch his hand, it would help. When she and the others touched him the numbers went up, but when I touched him the numbers jumped up. I remember her saying how high the numbers would go when I touched him; she was amazed.
All to soon we were sent home. I went to hang out with David and Nina. I was holding on to the sliver of hope he would live and this nightmare would be over. I finally was able to talk to Nathan,but what was said is beyond my memory now.
Then the nightmare took another turn, Kaiser wasn’t going to pay for him to stay at mission hospital. Kaiser wanted to transport him to their hospital off the 91 freeway, which was a dangerous move. Transporting him could cause complications and the doctors at Mission Hospital were not comfortable with this. They had hope for him if he were to stay under their care. But we were forced to move him.
On Tuesday I went to visit Papa. I was the first one there, everyone else was on their way with his Trust. The doctors wanted to see what his Trust said under this situation. To say the least I was very upset, he was in a coma and they might force us to pull the plug. I found his room and set my things on the chair beside him. He was so still, besides the machine making him breath. There was a nurse standing next to Papa, she seemed confused and was messing with tubes. She looked at me and smiled then commented “so many tubes”.
I let out a fake chuckle and started to worry. “What to you mean so many tubes?! You should know how this works!” Something was wrong, Papa’s breathing wasn’t right and his stomach was rising strangely. I looked down the hallway and saw my parents, I was grateful to see them. My mom noticed right away something wasn’t right and the Nurse went to get a doctor. Then it hit me, Papa was dying. My father started to take me out of the room, but it was to late I knew he had died. My mother flung her body over his legs crying and My father sat with me in the waiting room, while we cried. The staff was trying to resuscitate him again and we were left in limbo.
As we sat there, the rest of the family arrived and we told them the grim news. Then the inevitable happened. He was gone. Our Papa who we loved so much was gone from this world. I had never felt such emptiness before this tragic moment. As a family, we sat and cried. It was a depressing sight in that waiting room for others who were there. When the time came we left. My mother drove my car home. She didn’t want me driving so upset, and I couldn’t blame her, but what about her? I kept thinking about everyone else. It broke my heart into more pieces then I knew how to put together.
I drifted like a ghost trying to find its way, not knowing which direction to go in. His children and other grandchildren and even great grandchildren came for his service. He was cremated, so we held the service given by my best friends brother in the park in his neighborhood over looking the ocean. There were Marines there presenting my grandmother with a flag and playing TAPS (a song I cannot hear to this day with out shedding tears) and a few people said a few words, I expressed myself with a poem.
It all seems like yesterday, like some nightmare. Every time I go to my grandparents house I get excited to see him… then I think “oh yeah, hes gone”. Or the days I learn something and want to tell him, or the time I found my biological father and couldn’t wait to tell him the news. I always remember hes not there and it saddens me.
Where ever he maybe at this time, I miss him terribly. And though I know one day I shall see him again, it doesn’t ease my pain right now. Even after all this time. But I carry on, along with the rest of my family, because we have tomorrow to live for, and for each other.
Maybe Papa’s dying was a blessing that we didn’t have to pull the plug, this I know. But I worry about those who are young and can pull through something like this, but die at the negligence of some nurse who doesn’t know what he or she is doing. After his death my aunt called the doctors at Mission Hospital, informing them of his death. They were shocked. He was doing well when he left that hospital. This really added fuel to “I hate Kaiser fire”. I ask for those of you who have Kaiser Permanente, or any insurance for that matter, to be aware. If you have a dreadful feeling, act on it. It just might make a world of difference.
Papa… I have a secret 
Filed under: daily on July 28th, 2008 | No Comments »
