My Grandmother

I remember loving to be at Grandma's house. Us kids would play and play and play, while all my aunts and uncles would stay up late and play mahjong and smoke cigarettes in the basement. I'm an only child, so being with my cousins at my grandma's house was the BEST. I never wanted to leave when it was time to go. We'd lip sync to Duran Duran, do gymnastics on the couch, trip the younger kids as they ran circles around house, play mad scientist in the bathroom with all of my grandmother's toiletries (Ever do that before? Take everything in the bathroom cabinets and dump them in the sink and mix it up? Like shaving cream, shampoo, lotions, toothpaste, mouthwash?). Yeah, good times. We were there almost every weekend, sometimes even on the weekdays late at night when the restaurant closed. We were a close knit family back then...

Here is a picture of all of us. The whole entire family on my Dad's side. My Dad is third from the oldest, and he's the one holding the glass. There are 6 brothers all together, and one sister, who isn't pictured here, or her family- who includes three more cousins and an uncle...They lived in Florida so we rarely saw them. This picture- is when I remember everything the most. My grandmother is at the bottom, second from the right, holding little Allison (not so little anymore- well none of us are). It looks like it was grandpa's birthday here...he's the one in the middle (bottom), just completely engulfed by grandchildren...

My grandmother died this morning. She's been in the hospital for nearly a month now, in and out of the ICU, with a mystery diagnosis that was always lost in translation. She was nearly 90 years old (although no one knows for sure). My cousin Andy called me around 11:00 last night, and said grandma might not make it through the evening. Off I went to the hospital with him, to see her- to try to figure out how it all went so wrong so fast. Last week she had her gall bladder removed and we thought that was all the riff raff that had been giving her grief. Everything was supposed to be OK. She was going to go home in a few days. But days turned into more days, and she'd been in and out of the ICU, never really able to fully recover. But she was all there, all there in the head. Just last week when I saw her before her gall bladder was removed she wasn't doing too bad. It was like she finally didn't want to fight anymore. In the past couple of times in the previous weeks that I saw her, the second I got there, she was immediately trying to send me home, like- she didn't want to trouble me, or waste my time. But this time, she called for all of us. Like she knew. And we were all there...everyone in this picture- with the sweet Sherpa making her way back.

I'm not going to lie and say that I know that she went peacefully. In fact, I just wish I could have done more- she was on CPAP, uncomfortable, and I didn't want to see her hurting. I wanted to push morphine til the cows come home, and I was frustrated because I knew there was a better way. Her lungs were filled with fluid, and the next logical step would have been to intubate her, and put her on pain and sedation meds. But my family is old school- us cousins are first generation here in the states. They believed that intubation was more invasive, and it would prolong her pain and suffering. So there she was, on her back, a huge CPAP mask covering nearly her entire swollen face- no one could hear what she was saying, and she just kept trying to take it off. You could see it in her eyes that she was suffering, gasping for air...and since she was only on CPAP, all she got for pain was morphine every two hours. Sigh.. I can say that she got to see everyone...all of her children and her grandchildren, and perhaps this is how she wanted to go- to fight tooth and nail until she was certain that she was able to see her legacy that she was about to leave behind.

We left the hospital around 2am- and she died this morning around 5am. I do know that they finally gave her more morphine, and I refuse to let myself think that she suffered anymore. My last living grandparent is in heaven now too.

I hated taking family pictures back then. It always used to annoy me when the parents would call to us from upstairs (as we were dumped in the basement) and make us all stand and take pictures like the one I posted. They'd break up our fun! We'd all have to shuffle upstairs and take picture after picture after picture. Well I don't have any brothers or sisters, but I do have a wonderful group of friends that are pretty much my family. And we do to our kids what our parents did to us. We let our kids run wild while we all got together and had some drinks, and our kids would play..we do all of that now, except take group pictures.

I'm thinking we need to start.

Grandpa and Ryder

"Bye Bye Momma! Bye Bye Daddy!"
They're going to be fine- they're going to have a blast!
We love you Dad and Ryder.
Ciao Bella!

A Little Needy..

Ryder has been offered an opening at Goddard. What sets Goddard apart is that it is not only a day care center, but a school. A school with a curriculum for every aged child, in every age appropriate room. I thought he'd be wait listed for a while, but they finally called today, and said that there is now a space for him. Do I want it? Yes and no. Am I ready for him to go to day care M-W-F? Sort of. But I'm being that crazy, over-protective mama that I never thought I'd be. Jesus. I just gotta let go, and let my baby boy grow up, and socialize.

The funny part is, is that when the opportunities come knocking, they really come. Right before the phone call from Goddard we met with a nanny. A wonderful, sweet nanny who also has an 18 month old son. She's been a nanny for 5 years, and is a nurse tech on the weekends. She's got CPR, and great references, and her son and Ryder really hit it off. Now the question is, what to do?

We're leaning towards Goddard. We absolutely without a doubt know that it's safe. There's just no question in that at all. With a nanny, you just never know..and you never know about her friends, or her husband's friends...blah blah. We have the weekend to think it over. This whole child care search process has been nuts.

I think I just need a hug. A little needy perhaps? And I wonder where my son gets it from. Or maybe its post-vacation depression.

AND, they found another aneurysm in Dad. =(. It's only 4 cms, and it's below the liver...at 5 cms they'll operate and get rid of it. Dad is bummed, mostly because he can't go back to work. He's so bored, and he doesn't know what to do with his time. You would think it'd be a no brainer, you know- enjoy your days, go fishing, relax, etc...but its just not in him. He's been out of work for four months now, and he feels so useless. Poor dad. He came over yesterday and weeded our entire back yard. Love him so much, and I just want him to be well. One day at a time.

I've been thinking about the Baby Zoo Project too. I think I'm just going to post all the pics here, with the label "Baby Zoo". I was going to wait to start another separate blog, but I think I might not be able to keep up. Plus, I just have so many pictures that I want to share now. Look for them soon.

I feel like Eyore, and I feel like I lost my tail.

Grandpa and Ryder Watching Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom

Grandpa and Ryder Watching Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom, originally uploaded by Blue Ryder.

Thumbs Up!

This is my Daddy-O, three days post op.

Can you believe it?

Dad continues to surprise and astound us, and its only getting better.

Mom is doing great too, taking extra care of my Dad.

You would definitely want her at your bedside if

you're ever in the hospital.

She washes his hair, puts chap stick on his lips,

empties the bedside commode,

picks up the suction catheter off of the floor,

cuts up his food,

constantly encourages him to move his feet and make fists out of his hands,

bugs the nurses for footies, and even does suture care.

I just take pictures of "superman".

That's what he calls himself.

And now I totally believe him.

In-Fing-credible!!!!!

My Dad is doing amazing. I still sit here and shake my head in disbelief because it's so incredible. Today his second art line was pulled, another one of his IV's, and the remainder of his chest tubes. He was moved to the Cardiac Telemetry unit for the rest of his hospital course, and on his way over, he was yelling, "beep! beep!" down the hallway!

He's not hooked up to any sort of external cardiac monitoring. It's a telemetry unit, so the leads from inside his chest are connected to a portable box which reads his vital signs- sends them directly over to the nursing station. That's fantastic news...but, sort of scary news if you're the daughter of William Yau. Because he's the kinda guy who's gonna try and get up to go to the bathroom all by himself in the middle of the night because he won't want to bother any of the nurses (yes, even his foley is out). And what's stopping him? Nothing. He's not hooked up to anything, his chest tubes are gone, there are no lines of IVs hanging anywhere to make him possibly ask for help. He's a free man. Good Lord.

We got to talking about whether or not he remembered anything, and if he was scared, etc. His face grew red and he started to cry when he said that when he woke up, he was sooo happy that he knew where he was, that he knew why he was there, and that he didn't have anything happen to his brain. Like me, that was his greatest fear. Since they were working so close to the vessels that lead to his brain, one of his biggest risks of the surgery was throwing a clot, causing a stroke. He was relieved that he felt everything, that he could move his arms and legs, and that he knew where he was- and that he knew what he wanted to do- and say. Relieved to say the least. Then of course, my mom started to cry, and then of course, I started to cry...I guess we are that family that cries at moments of extreme happiness...because that's why I was crying. I'm so ridiculously happy. Father's Day will certainly mean something different this year.

I was telling Scott when I got home that I felt weird. Weird in a sense that I have nothing left to worry about. I've been worrying for what has been about 6 weeks. And tonight, I think I can truly say that I have nothing more to worry about. Even if he does fall on the way to the bathroom because he wants to do it himself, he'll be fine. He's got a crazy sense of honor, strength and pride that I can't match, and that's what's going to keep him around me for a long, long time. No more worrying. If you could see his face right now, you'd never believe that his chest was wide open two days ago for eight hours. You just wouldn't believe it.

In-Fing-credible.

I've Never Been More Proud

8:00 am:

Me: Good Morning, can I speak to the nurse taking care of William Yau?

Receptionist: Please hold......(holding....holding....holding....aww come on, report's over..what's going on??)....hold on please.

Jason: CICU, this is Jason.

Me: Hi, this is William's daughter, are you the nurse taking care of him today?

Jason: Yes, I am.

Me: How did he do last night? Is he alright?

Jason: Oh, he's doing great! I actually have him up sitting in a chair, and he's eating breakfast.

Me: WHAT??? Oh my GOD!!!! (Scott wonders WTF is going on) You mean, he's extubated? He's sitting up? He's EATING???

Jason: Yes, yes! Your father's actually doing really well. He finally woke up this morning around 5:30, and we extubated him at around 6:30. His blood gases have been really good since then!

I am elated. I haven't been this excited and happy in a long time. I jump out of bed, run into the shower, and I'm out the door by nine. I absolutely can not wait to see him.

I get to the hospital and find parking, and by 9:30, I'm walking briskly past the atrium where my husband, my mom, and I waited all day yesterday. I see new families camped out there today, some wrapped in blankets, sleeping- some on the computer, some reading, some staring off into space. I think to myself that I'm happy that I'm not there anymore, and then I think that its CRAZY that I was just there yesterday, and today my Dad is sitting up and eating.

I get to his room, and there he was. Sitting up in his chair. He was sleeping, and the breakfast tray sitting in front of him was empty. I walked in quietly, with a huge smile on my face, and just as I put my bag full of books and magazines down, he looked up, smiled, and said, "hi tilly! ohhhh good daughter"! I give him the biggest hug ever, and I have never been more proud.

He's doing exceptionally well. And I'm in awe of medicine today, where aggressive recovery is actually supposed to work better than slow rest. Through the course of today, they've taken out his swan (a catheter threaded into his heart chambers to monitor cardiac function and output), one of his art lines, and two JP drains. The PICU nurse in me was like, "are you SURE you need to take all of that out now?" Back in my day, that stuff stayed in just in case. Back in my day, I think, things were different. God, I'm old. I talked to Dad's nurse practitioner, and she agreed. Protocols have changed recently in the last 5 years. When she was just a mere bedside cardiac nurse, the post op patients remained tubed, paralyzed and sedated for at least the evening, and into mid morning the next day. This is all just crazy.

He had lunch, took another nap, and then went for a walk. That's right, you heard me, a WALK. The physical therapist, nurse, mom and I all rolled up our sleeves and got him presentable, packed up his remaining chest tubes and lines, hooked him up to the portable monitor, and went on our merry way. He took off down the hallway, prompting the physical therapist to tell him to slow down. I kept asking mom to ask Dad if he was dizzy, if he hurt anywhere....all Dad would say was, "yeah...sure...no problem." He'd walked past others in the hall and smile, and do the "thumbs up" sign. Its all unbelievable.

We got him tucked back into bed....and he got a percocet. He went to sleep immediately, with a very very happy look on his face, like he had climbed a mountain. And he has. He definitely has. There were no other concerns today, except for minor fluctuations in his blood pressure. They have a target goal for him, to keep his pressures lower than 110 systolic- for his new aorta. But, they also don't want it to be lower than 80 systolic. And it's dipped that low a few times today, scaring me, of course- but just another day in the office for these nurses. Its also been high as well today- but apparently that's been a good indication of pain for him (because he consistently denies any pain verbally), and he'd get percocet, and his blood pressure would come back down.

I'm home now, and I miss him. I can't wait to see him again tomorrow. He'll be transferred to the step-down, or telemetry unit tomorrow- if all goes well this evening. And it will.

And I've never EVER been more proud of my Dad.

The CICU

Dad looked great. He had great color, his dressings were clean and dry, and the three chest tubes coming from under his incision looked like they were draining perfectly. When I walked in, I admit I had been preparing myself for the worst all day. But, I was happy that he looked good. He was on a bunch of pressors, and still tubed, and getting a fresh bag of plasma.

I wanted to jump right in, and start taking care of him. When his blood pressure started dipping and his alarm started sounding, I wanted to reach out and up his dobutamine. When the respiratory therapist was suctioning him (nope, couldn't watch)- I wanted to yell from behind the curtain after she said, "hmmm, not getting anything"...and say, "does he have a plug"? I wanted to check his pupils...I wanted to strip his chest tubes...and most of all, I wanted him to squeeze my hand before I left for the evening.

But he was still sleeping when we left. And I left the nurses and the docs to do their job. They told us that it may take a while for him to wake up, because he was pretty much under for 8 hours, and he's still heavily sedated. I hope he sleeps until morning. Because I don't want him to wake up in the middle of the night, and be afraid.

When I got home, I called right away for an update. He's stable right now, and the only problem he's having is that he's a little acidotic. They gave him some bicarb..and they'll check his gas again in an hour. I'll check in on him once more before bed, and pray to any god/deity that will listen that he'll be alright. And he's still sleeping.

Thanks for all of the text messages and IMs and phone calls....you've all helped me through today. One day down, and lets hope the rest of his hospital stay only gets better from here on out. That he walks out of the hospital with merely a scar on his chest that he can blame on a shark attack would be fantastic.

And I promise, if he does well- I will never- ever-ever make fun of pictures of Daddy that look like this:

Or this:

or this:

A Crazy Mighty Heart

6:30 am:

Only one member in the prep area allowed with Dad. I hope my mom knows where to find me. They ushered all of us additional family members out of the small check in area and sent us to a larger waiting atrium, filled with sunlight, and even trees. I watch everyone grab seats, setting up camp for what will be a long day for many of us, I think. I hope my mom knows where to find me. We're nowhere near the small check-in area where her and dad left me. I hope I get to see my dad and say, "love ya, see ya later!!" before he goes in....

I'm nervous. Jesus. If I'm nervous, I wonder how my dad feels....

6:55 am:

Got to see Dad. My mom put up a stink and didn't want to leave Dad's side- and sent a disgruntled OR prep nurse out to come and get me. Apparently, my mom was supposed to leave so I could go in and see...but mom was not budging.

He looked so scared. They had taken his full set of dentures out in preparation for the surgery, and he looks soooo vulnerable. They put in an IV, and were working on an art-line when I came in. I met the OR nurse who will be with him the entire time, as well as the anesthesiologist. Everyone seems to be in great spirits, and this seems like a walk in the park for the entire surgical staff. It better be. Dad's blood pressure was 180/90. Poor guy is soooo scared. But he's putting on a crazy brave face. So am I.

Mom and I kiss him and say, "love you".....I refuse to say "good-bye". I choose "see ya later, have a nice nap."

10:00 am:

First update....dad doing good...although he's not on bypass yet.

12:00 pm:

Second update....everything proceeding as planned. No curve balls. He's been on-pump now for about an hour.

2:00 pm:

The families here wait for news....whenever a surgeon, doctor, nurse, or anyone in a set of scrubs walks into the atrium, you can look up and see that everyone is staring at them, hoping that they'd come their way with any info regarding how surgery went. The person in scrubs looks back at the crowd, searching for a familiar face...this happens about every two hours or so. Dad's been in surgery for what I think has been six hours already..and at ten of two, I couldn't take it anymore, and went straight to the receptionist so she could call the OR directly, and let me know what's going on.

Finally..Dad is off-pump. That's great news...that means they got the heart pumping on its own again. Way to go DAD!!!! Jeez, he sure wants to dance, doesn't he? Dad is off-pump. I remember working in the PICU, and getting post-op heart kids, and the hardest part was getting them off pump. Kinda like the heart just forgets what it needs to do for a little bit, and gets lazy. Well, not my dad. He's ready to go dancing.

OK. Just spoke with the Nurse practitioner. Everything is going smoothly, they're closing him up. He's "oozy" a little, so they're going to watch him closely for bleeding. He'll probably get a few more transfusions tonight. He did well, except for the fact that they had to graft more of the aorta then they had previously thought, from the aortic valve, to past the arteries to the brain. Originally they were only going to graft right up to the arteries to the brain. She mentioned that had he waited any longer without seeing a doctor, he would've been in pretty bad shape- say in three months.

He's going to be fine. I know it. I'm just preparing myself to see him in the ICU. He'll have leads coming out of his chest so they can quickly do whatever they need to do should his heart decide it wants to be lazy again. He'll be on a couple of pressors, like dobutamine and metoprolol. And he'll have a central line, a PIV, and an art line. And, of course, he'll still be intubated. Hopefully the next time I see him (after today), he'll be extubated. I don't want him to try to talk to me....I know he'll try. He'll point, he'll try to talk like nothing is in his airway. I know my Dad. And it will be hard for me to tell him to stop. And it will be hard for me to look at my Dad's eyes, because they're sooo expressive. And I certainly don't want to be around when they suction him. Small potatoes for what he's going through, but when they suction and he gags and chokes and sputters, I'll be in the hallway, thank you.

I can't wait till this month is over. Til Dad is back home, and playing with Ryder....til he's telling me and my freakishly tall husband about his night out dancing. Til he looks at me again without the looming fear of surgery..can't wait can't wait can't wait.....

4:00 pm:

The cardiothoracic surgeon who plays tennis with my father-in-law came by and gave us the latest....he's done!!! He's headed up to the ICU, and we should be able to see him in about an hour. "This isn't the kind of surgery anyone wants to have, but he did great. We did as much as we could do, without doing too much, because sometimes too much is just that. Too much." Eh? Ok. I'm just happy that he's doing ok right now. One little baby step at a time. He talked about cooling down Dad's body, and how they kept his brain perfused, and how his aorta was very sclerosed, with fatty particles hanging off of it, flapping in the wind like butter. Sweet baby Jesus, Dad, you're lucky.

Dancing

It's nonsense to me that on Monday, June 11 (the date has been pushed back yet another week), that my dad's heart will stop beating for no less than an hour, and no more than 4. I find it hard to believe. It scares me. It scares me so much I can't even google the words "heart/lung machine".

My dad's heart will stop beating.

Weird. Brings on an ache in my throat and some tears to my eyes just thinking about it.

We met with Dad's cardiothoracic surgeon today. Great guy. What's funny is that he plays tennis with my freakishly tall husband's dad. What a small world. Does this mean that he'll take good care of my dad? Since he's friends with my in-laws? I hope so.

Then more news. In addition to his faulty aortic valve, my dad has an aneurysm in his aorta, and a blocked coronary artery. Surgery is going to be much more difficult than we had previously thought. I held it together for my parents when I was there, but on my way home from dropping them off at home, I teared enough that I had to take my sunglasses off, and wipe the frames off with the corner of my shirt. Of course, RadioHead blasting on my Ipod did not help.

Because all my dad wanted to know was when he would be able to dance again. Over and over again..."when I dancing??".......

He's going to be fine..he's going to be fine...he's going to be fine...he's going to be fine...he's going to be fine...