Dad was knocked out today. All day. He got up to get into the chair and knocked back out. He had us rock his chair back and forth and knocked back out. He asked for more pain killers and knocked back out.
Then Pastor Sarah and Husband Greg showed up. And Greg just wasn’t having this knocked back out stuff. He woke dad up with a shout, and Sarah said a prayer. (As pastors go, Sarah is pretty rockstar.)
Then they chatted with dad, had a good laugh and left. That’s when the fun started.
After a day of sleep, dad threw his legs off the bed and said he wanted out. Not out of bed, out of the hospital. As he sat up, we called the nurse to help wrangle him. She came in, saw his back and realized his entire bed was covered in blood. Where the doctor had removed the drain from the surgery site, dad was bleeding and oozing.
It was an hour-long ordeal of changing bandages, bedsheets, blankets and clothing for dad. He wasn’t thrilled about the pain involved, but he was a soldier. I heard his words from my childhood coming from my mouth, me 4 years old with a skinned knee, him rinsing the wound with alcohol: “It’s only temporary, honey.”
From my mouth to God’s ear, please let it be.
He squeezed my hand and we got through it. Mom held him up, helping him feel safe. After much rolling and shifting, he settled in, then drank a milkshake that he reported was “actually pretty tasty, even though it’s from THIS place.”
After all that work, he is knocking back out. And truth told, I’m not far behind him.