The Olympics suck!

I never enjoy the Olympics. They interfere with my normal TV schedule, and let's face it... Canada is no powerhouse nation. It's not like there's much to look forward to. Still, I had high hopes for the Canadian rowing team, and I was certain they would do well with all the hype they had been generating. I'm sure glad I'm not a betting man.

On another front, I found myself rooting for the "local athletes"... those who lived within a few miles of my own home. Today, the last of those was eliminated from competition. There wasn't a single medal among them.

Please, let this end soon!

New Section of links

I get asked questions by friends and family about computer security. I have, in the past, outfitted these people with trusted anti-virus, firewall, and anti-spyware tools. Nevertheless, the human engineering found in some of today's popup ads and spam are quite tempting. In an effort to be proactive and offer ongoing advice to those who seek it, I have created a new section of links over to the right. I won't be going hog-wild with this section. Rather, I'll try to find relevant, useful links that can be browsed by those with questions about their computer's security.

Learning

I'm learning much about myself, as I learn more about my religion. I'm learning that I enjoy getting up in the morning to go to the prayer session. Whether this will last once the weather turns is anyone's guess, but so far, it's really a part of the day I look forward to. I'm learning more about the prayers, and am becoming more proficient at reading them aloud. My shyness at making mistakes is beginning to slowly disappear, not because I'm any less self-conscious, but rather, because the daily practice is making me better.

I had mentioned that my visit to the old synagogue had been enjoyable. I told this to the rabbi of that shul. He's the same rabbi who shows up most mornings at the community prayer meeting to join in. He's the same rabbi who visited my father while he was in the hospital. I've come to like this rabbi as a person, as well as respecting him as clergy.

Today, I discovered the rabbi has tendered his resignation. The cross-border commute that his wife (a U.S. citizen living in Canada) has to endure on a daily basis has finally reached the breaking point. She wants to leave the city, and he has obliged. In a way, it's good that he's leaving, since I'm beginning to know him better than I do my own congregation's rabbi. I've been feeling a bit of guilt that I have been praying with this man 5 days a week, while I continue to declare my allegiance to the other rabbi who leads me the other two days.

He has given the synagogue two months to find a successor. Hopefully, the new rabbi will be as nice a guy as this one.

Trivial Pursuit

Reality is sometimes stranger than fiction.

Masterpiece Theatre

I rented Kill Bill volume 2 yesterday. I hadn't seen it at the theatre. I had seen volume 1, and it was just barely tolerable. Who knew I was so sensitive to gratuitous violence. I think it was the anime that really got to me. Anyway, I had heard such good things about volume 2, I just couldn't resist. What a masterpiece. Everything in this movie went counter to my expectations. Though in retrospect, I should have seen many of the plot twists, I am pleased to say I didn't; and that every one of them was a pleasant surprise.

Now, if only I could get my wife to watch it (she walked out of Volume 1 during the early anime sequences, thoroughly disgusted with the violence and utter evil portrayed on the screen).

A stroll down memory lane

I'm still in the 30-day mourning period following my dad's passing, and as such, have been faithfully attending morning and evening services so that I can say Kaddish. There are two orthodox synagogues in this city... the main one, and the small one. I normally attend the small one, though, when I was a child, I attended the main one.

Today, the rabbi for the small synagogue was out of town, so I attended the main one. It was a stroll down memory lane in more ways than one. First, the immenseness of the building hit me immediately. The echos and stale air were as they had always been. I'm so glad I don't have to go there often. But there was something pleasant and familiar about this visit as well. Each rabbi and cantor have their own style of reading and chanting. When a congregation changes rabbi or cantor, often this signals the beginning of a new way of doing things. Familiar tunes give way to new tunes. Sections of prayer that were previously sung are now read dryly, and vice versa. Imagine my surprise when I realized that the current rabbi and cantor conduct services nearly identically to how they were conducted in my youth. I recognized virtually all the tunes, and various passages were sung/read aloud in much the same way as in my youth.

Although that made the visit to the main synagogue far more enjoyable than it could have been, I much prefer the small, quaint, understated atmosphere of the small synagogue, and will be glad when the rabbi returns next weekend.

Not much going on here

In contrast with the hectic change of pace that was the only constant through the last few weeks of my dad's life, things since his death have been remarkably boring. My days now begin with a visit to the local synagogue or community centre, where I find a mineon to say my Kaddish prayers. These sessions occur early enough during the day to get me back to my home in time to report for work at the regular time. After work, I take another trip to the centre for the evening prayers. I have been thinking about whether I will continue this ritual after my 30-day mourning period is up - except for forcing me to fall asleep earlier than I usually do, this has not been intolerable, and I even think there may come a time when my attendance at these sessions will make a difference to some other "new mourner".

Good show!

Eric has been meeting the family all over town this weekend after returning from the Toronto area where the rest of our extended family lives. Today, in addition to meeting relatives, we had the opportunity to visit Colasanti's Gardens. As usual, the visit was very enjoyable.

I now pronouce you...

What a hoot! The same-sex-marriage rush in Canada has had it's first casualty. One of the first lesbian couples married in Canada now wants a divorce. One small problem... same sex DIVORCE is not yet legal in Canada.

Maybe the government thought that people who had waited so long, and tried so hard, to tie the knot would actually want to stay married for more than a few days! These goofs went their separate ways after only five days of marriage!

It's clear to me they just wanted to be in the record books. One of the first to marry, and THE first to divorce. They should have done the civilized thing and had their marriage annulled during the 7-day warranty period. Instead, they cause eachother all this grief.

Shiva continues

During the week following the burial, we sit Shiva. Not living in a Jewish household, and with Eric in to visit, the "traditional" shiva is not observed in my home, although I am attending all the prayer meetings, and making trips to visit other family members.

Welcome Eric

Eric came to town Monday. He's Jessica's fiance, and this is our first opportunity to meet him in person. If first impressions are any indication, Eric will be a welcome addition to the family.

In other news...

Anne wrote yesterday about seeing a story about a bizarre event on a recent flight from Detroit to Los Angeles. I hadn't paid much attention to the heightened state of alert at Detroit Metropolitan Airport issued by the media a couple of weeks ago. But, with Eric (my future son-in-law) scheduled to arrive at Detroit airport next week, and having read the linked story, I am starting to feel uneasy about my daughter's flight from Detroit to Denver at the end of next week to meet Eric's parents.

The Funeral, Kaddish and Kiddish


Part I: The Funeral

As is the Jewish tradition, funerals are held as soon as possible after death. With my father passing just minutes before midnight on Tuesday, there wasn't time to arrange for a Wednesday funeral. So, we had it today instead. With dad being the last of his siblings to pass away, the only surviving relatives were of a younger generation. I've never been overly social, so I wasn't sure how many people would come to pay their respects. To say I was overwhelmed by the response would be an understatement. Several of my relatives made last minute changes to their plans to be here. In one case, second-cousins vacationing on the east coast drove 10 hours by car to get to the funeral on time. In another case, a cousin who had started reading my blog shortly after his last trip to Windsor made arrangements to come to the funeral even before I had formally told him of my father's death - he had read about it on the blog!

It seemed that each person who came had something wonderful and touching to say about my dad. Though I had known how this man had touched the lives of so many, still it was a real tribute to show up at the funeral, where no-one but the survivors would ever know they had come. Words cannot express the joy they brought to me, my sisters, and my mom.


Part II: The Kaddish

I remember going to a funeral a long time ago where the son of the deceased was unable to recite the Kaddish (the traditional prayer for the dead). It scared me, because for the past few years, I've had this morbid fear of screwing up this prayer at the gravesite, thereby somehow dishonouring the memory of my father. There are several variations of the Kaddish, with the "Reader's Kaddish" and "Mourner's Kaddish" being the most familiar. These prayers are recited several times during the course of a daily religious service; so despite the fact I don't attend services as regularly as I should, I have still learned these prayers over a span of over 40 years. There is another version of the Kaddish known as the "Grand Kaddish". As its name implies, it is longer than the other versions (about double in length), and happens to be unfamiliar to me. It is the "Grand Kaddish" that is recited during burial ceremonies. Yesterday, while visiting my sister's home, I asked her whether I could look at a prayer book, so I could get an advanced look at that prayer.

It was a monster. I recognized the words that began the prayer. But, beyond the first four words, it was Greek to me. I don't speak Hebrew. I don't understand the language at all (OK, maybe I know the word for "father", "mother", "dog", "water" - but that's not "speaking" the language). Hebrew, however, is phonetic. That is, each letter of the Hebrew alphabet has a distinctive sound. That means that I can "speak" the language without knowing what I'm saying. Unfortunately, being able to parrot the sounds is difficult, because, without knowing what you're saying, there is no ability to "anticipate" what comes next. It makes reading very difficult. The first time I tried reading the seven-line first paragraph, it took me nearly ten minutes. Not only would this not be acceptable, it would be downright embarassing.

I decided to create a transliteration of that first paragraph (the remaining paragraphs were the same as the other kaddish versions, so I already knew them). A transliteration is created by assigning English letters to substitute for the sound made by the Hebrew letters (consonants) and punctuation marks (vowels).

Hebrew letters are read/pronounced from right-to-left as you read the page. Using the alphabet and sound guide from the link above, imagine how long it would take you to create this example of transliteration. It shows the "usual" version of the Kaddish (the one I know by heart). Since I was having trouble reading the passage, it took quite a while (nearly an hour) to get a transliteration that was both accurate, and easy to read. If you don't know what I mean by "easy to read", try reading this: ify oud on'tk now wha time ant ryre adin gth is.

So, an hour later, I have finished the work, and begin to practice reading the transliteration. There's no way I'm going to memorize this passage overnight, but if I can at least make it sound "familiar" to me, I should be able to get the reading rate up. I had been practicing for a good half hour, and had the reading time down to about 1-1/2 minutes for the paragraph. That's still slower than it should be read, but tolerable. The only thing I needed now was a copy of the prayer book to take to the gravesite with me, so I could "hide" my cheat sheet.

My brother-in-law was quite accommodating, managing to locate a more compact (portable) version of the prayer book. I was about to leave the house with the book when (for some unknown reason), I decided to look inside and read the prayer again. To my absolute shock, I discovered that the two prayer books did not agree on the wording of the prayer! In this seven-line paragraph, I found about a half-dozen words that were different between the versions! Remember, I don't know Hebrew, so I had no way to tell whether the discrepancies were due to typographical errors, writing style, or who knows what else!

I was going to be meeting the Rabbi later that evening to make arrangements about the service, so I thought I'd transliterate the different passages and ask the Rabbi which version of the prayer was correct. I'm glad I did... because it turns out the SECOND version of the prayer was the correct version.

So, here I am, standing at the gravesite, but I had forgotten to bring the prayer book with me. No problem... I'd just borrow the Rabbi's copy. When it came time for the prayer, I held his prayer book, pulled out my trusty (revised) transliteration, and proceeded to stumble through the first paragraph in what seemed like a long time to me, but probably because I was so nervous. Once I finished the first paragraph, I put away my cheat sheet and began to recite the familiar part of the Kaddish from the book. Then, believe it or not, I ran into one stanza in the "familiar" portion of the prayer that didn't seem so familiar. Luckily, the difference between what I was reading, and what I remembered, was only one word - and an easy one to pronounce at that.

I've worried about this prayer for twenty years. Now, I can finally exhale.


Part III: The Kiddish

I didn't eat breakfast this morning. I'm not sure why, perhaps just nervous. But the funeral service was scheduled to start at 1:00PM, with the burial scheduled to follow after a lengthy funeral procession. By the time we got the "business" out of the way and proceeded to the catered buffet meal, it would be past 3:30PM. I've been to lots of catered meals put on by the synagogue. In every case, the meal doesn't start until grace is recited. Everyone (myself included) was milling around impatiently waiting for the Rabbi to arrive so he could recite the grace. He finally did arrive, only to approach me and ask why no-one was eating. When I told him, he looked at me with that "what, haven't you ever been to one of these gigs before?" looks. Turns out the grace is said by the same person who recited the graveside prayer. Translation: EVERYONE WAS WAITING FOR ME, and I didn't even know it.

I have to say, the Kiddish was a big hit. I had no idea how many people to expect for the funeral service, and didn't have a clue how many would actually travel out to the gravesite for the interment. And from there, I had no idea how many would actually proceed to the buffet. My sister had ordered enough food for sixty people. Somewhat fewer actually came, but when you consider that only about 1/4 of the attendees were local, that's a good turnout. This kind of spread is one of the things I usually enjoy photographing, but needless to say, it would have been VERY inappropriate of me to whip out the camera (I had actually brought the camera with me, but wisely left it in the car). I can't begin to tell you the variety and quality of food offered to the guests... although I can say from experience that the smoked salmon, bagels, grapes, egg salad, tuna salad, pickles, and brownies were delicious. I can also say there were at least five tempting dishes I passed up because my plate had been filled with the aforementioned items.

Anyway, I do believe the food was well received. And from the limited amount of doggie bag food available afterward, I think I can safely say that the buffet was a hit. Kudo's to my sister for ordering the right amount of food, without any idea how many people would actually show up.

In addition to food, the Kiddish gave me the opportunity to visit with each table (a table roughly corresponding to one or two family units). There was one exception. By sheer coincidence, one of my cousins was celebrating a "reunion" on the occasion of their twin-daughters' 40th birthday celebrations. They took time to gather the entire clan - three generations worth - to come to the funeral. They used at least two tables on their own.

Every time our extended family gathers for a wedding, funeral, bar mitzvah... we always say we'll get together. And of course, with everyone having busy lives and living in different cities, we never do. Here's hoping that this time, we WILL get together and not wait until the next sad occasion.

The Journey Ends





May 3, 1920 - July 13, 2004


Rest in Peace


The end came swiftly and peacefully, with my sister and me at his side. He spent the final two days of his life listening to joyous music eminating from the hearts and lips of his loving children and their spouses. Nurses at the ICU commented that never before had anyone been serenaded by continuous show-tunes, hymns, pop music, lullabies, nursery rhymes ... sung at the top of our voices.

We could tell he was listening. While still hooked up to monitors, there were distinct patterns of blood pressure that could be directly attributed to who was singing. When my sister or my wife sang, blood pressure was low and steady. When I sang, blood pressure immediately soared and became erratic. Even in a near-comatose state, my dad had strong opinions about my (lack of a) singing voice.

Tonight, I had arrived at the hospital, ready to begin the night-time shift. My sister was describing how the day had gone, and what to watch for, now that my dad had been removed from the monitor. My dad must have been listening for my arrival. He chose that 20-minute window of shift change-over to alter his breathing pattern, open his eyes wide, and make noises (which we thought were moans of pain - but now believe to be an attempt at a final goodbye). We both spoke to him at that point, told him we loved him, and gave him permission to sleep. Less than a minute later, he was gone.

There were no tears. My dad had left us the greatest gift of joy imaginable. A final expression of love.

Thanks to all

Even though we are following my dad's last wishes, it is certainly easier when aided by a helpful and knowledgeable staff. I'd like to thank the following Hotel Dieu ICU staff for their assistance and sympathetic understanding...

Dr. Datta
Dr. Muscedere
Mary C - Acute Care Nurse Practitioner
Karen S - Respiratory Therapist
Donna N - Registered Nurse
Denise D - Registered Nurse
Natalie P - Registered Nurse
Sarah F - Registered Nurse
Joyce J - Chaplain

... and the entire ICU support staff and team

Dawn of a new day

I stayed with him through the night. I slept mostly, having been awake for the better part of the previous 24 hours, knowing that the monitors would alert me to the moment of truth.

The monitors never sounded. I awoke at 6:25AM and he's still with us. His kidney function is gone, having produced almost no output throughout the night. The doctor had told us beforehand that this would happen. Although his body is strong, it is shutting down, slowly but surely. He is peaceful, showing no distress at all except for the moments when nurses must turn his body to keep him comfortable. To me, it seems like he get annoyed when his rest is disturbed... perhaps believing that those poking and prodding are trying to interfere with nature's course.

Even in his march towards death, he holds his head high.

Almost over

It's 8:55PM, July 12. We have removed the ventilating tubes. All medications have been suspended, except for the morphine drip. It's only a matter of time until my father slips away to join his many brothers, sisters, and parents.

It's been a long, difficult road, but the journey is almost over.

Critical stage

My worst nightmare has come to pass. Dad, completely awake and able to hear/understand all around him, is able to respond to questions which can be answered using gestures, nods, blinks, etc. However, he is too weak to utter an intelligible sound or to hold a pencil, so he lays there with the most frustrated expression as he is completely unable to communicate his thoughts to those around him.

I need to devise a way to pry his thoughts from him using questions, but so far, am having no success.

Quick catch-up

The lancing device I brought for my dad is gone. But because I put up a fuss, a new one appeared in it's place - the same model that I had originally brought.

But it doesn't really matter, because yesterday, my dad had to be readmitted to the hospital. Turns out he's been refusing food and water for days (apparently a voluntary decision), and it finally caused him to become too weak to remain healthy. He's now in the hospital, back on an intravenous, but otherwise in decent shape.

What a bummer

I visited my dad on Tuesday evening, and remembered to bring the lancing device. The nurses have been manually using a lancette to pierce his finger to test for blood sugar. He's been wincing from the pain. So, I brought a spare lancing device from my old testing kit.

I got a call tonight from my mom, who reported that the device has gone missing. I don't know if it simply got tangled up in some clothing, or fell on the floor, or was taken by one of the staff (who don't have their own lancing devices).

I'm going to do a search, and I will be able to recognize it. I prominently marked the lancing device with my dad's name, and I'm sure whoever took it rubbed off the name to cover their tracks. But I'm just as sure they didn't know I also labeled the INSIDE of the device in such a way that the mark can only be viewed when you're specifically looking for it. Someone's gonna get caught with stolen goods!

Much less sucky

On a brighter note, my sister informs me that yesterday, my dad took a short walk without the aid of a walker. He did require minimal assistance getting up from a seated position, but once on his feet, he was able to walk on his own. That's wonderful progress, since it's been only four days since he was released from the hospital. I'll have to get a picture of him walking during my next visit.

That sucks

I wasn't able to get a picture of my parents with the sign on Sunday. I arrived with my camera, only to be told that my mom had taken the sign home with her Saturday night. Best laid plans...

Happy 57th Anniversary

I can't believe it... me, a photo freak, forgot to take pictures of both my parents standing together for their anniversary. And I had prepared a special sign, at my father's request, to mark the occasion. I'll have to get a picture tomorrow.

Happy Canada Day!

This will be a short post. Happy Canada Day to all my friends celebrating the birth of our country - whether you're celebrating today or tomorrow. As for me, I have special cause to celebrate. My dad was released from the hospital today. He's now in a nursing home!

Un-fucking-believable!




Thank God (and everyone who prayed with me) for my dad's recovery

A good week

I haven't posted in a while. But it's been a good week. On the recovery front, my dad has been progressing well. All tubes have been removed (still has the catheter) and he's been breathing on his own. It now seems like he's going to be able to leave the hospital soon and enter a nursing facility, at least for a while. He's been progressing with the physical therapy (even though it really wears him out), and for the first time in a long time, it doesn't look like he's a moment away from backsliding.

My cousin came from out of town just to visit my dad, and came to the hospital Friday, Saturday, and Sunday to see him. I think my dad was really glad to have the extra company. Earlier in the week, one of the guys who had worked for my father back in the 1950's and 1960's came to the hospital to visit. It was like they had just talked the previous day. It sure must be nice to be a good person and have so many friends.





On Saturday night, my cousin and I decided to take in a baseball game at Comerica Park, home of the Detroit Tigers for the past three seasons. It was my first visit there, so I took way too many pictures. The game turned out to be very exciting, with the home-team pulling it out with a homerun in the bottom of the 9th inning. Who could ask for more.





My first trip to Comerica - it's a cool stadium with good views in every seat









It looks like my cousin was enjoying the game


It was really good seeing my cousin after so many years. Though we talk on our birthdays, it's just not the same as seeing eachother in person. Despite the reason for his visit, everything was very upbeat, and I hope I get the opportunity to see him again real soon.

Recap in Pictures

I've given it some thought, and decided pictures would be appropriate.

When I first posted about the minor surgery, it seemed my dad would be home in a matter of days.



As you can see from the picture, he didn't seem any worse for wear, considering his age.


Within days, he had developed a reaction to the antibiotics administered as part of his post-op care, and while doctors struggled to figure out what was going on, he had begun the process of slipping into a near-death state as the SJS took hold of him. He looked like he had been in a fire... his skin was blistering all over, both externally and internally. Deep red rashes were evident on his torso, arms, legs, face, and scalp. The inside of his mouth was raw and bleeding. These were the days when I could barely stand to look at him, for fear my shock and horror would be telegraphed to him. Mercifully, I have no pictures from this period, although the picture below is representative of his condition.




A patient suffering from SJS shows the rash on arms, neck and torso


After nearly a month of treatment, my dad had been progressively getting better. However, it wasn't all good news... Not only was he suffering from SJS, but he had contracted pneumonia and septicemia. And after the steroid treatments were stopped, the SJS started to make an immediate comeback. Then, the doctors decided to try a blood transfusion. He seemed to make a nearly miraculous recovery.




After the transfusion, he seemed to perk up a bit, though the receding SJS rash is still evident.


In this picture, if you look closely at his neck, you can see the bright red rash that had completely engulfed his body. Around his mouth are the remnants of sores and dried blood that had come from his internal bleeding. Still, I took this picture because it represented a monumental improvement from his condition over the previous two weeks.


Little did I know that within four days of taking that picture, my dad would be having what we thought were his last moments on earth. And just three days later, we again thought it was the end.

Somehow, he keeps fighting back, and today, we got to spend Father's Day with him. As you can see from the pictures below, he's on the mend again.




When I looked at this picture afterward, I could tell how alert and attentive he had been.
It made me so happy.




My dad looked pleased that we were there to celebrate Father's Day with him.




Lending a cheek, my mom gets cozy with dad.
At the time, he seemed to be more interested in getting some sleep.




And of course, my wife (posing with my mom) was there to help lend support to me and my dad.

Visiting my dad

So, we visited the hospital today for Father's Day, and saw my dad out of bed, relaxing on a reclinable wheelchair. While he sounded weak and had oxygen being administered through his nose, he was a bit more chipper than I've seen him. I took the opportunity to read aloud the card we had purchased, and into which I had pasted a personal note (printed from my home computer to look like it was part of the original card). He didn't seem at all depressed today, though he was a bit uncomfortable in the chair and asked for the nurse to do something or other every five minutes. I guess he's going stir crazy in the hospital. Who can blame him.

I'm of two minds whether to post pictures that show him in less than perfect health. On the one hand, the pictures may not be too pretty. On the other, it gives my family members who live out of town a chance to see my father in a condition better than when they last saw him. I'll have to give it some thought.

Father's Day weekend

My father's day weekend started early, with a family trip to honour my wife's dad. We invited her parents for a day out at Colasanti's in Leamington. I think the last time we visited there was last mother's day. Anyway, the day was very enjoyable. On the way there, I phoned my own dad at the hospital. I was so impressed with his recovery. For the first time in several weeks, he sounded like he had some energy. His voice sounded strong and intelligible. I should explain that last point... my dad has been very weak and during part of his treatment, he has been receiving nourishment through IV's. In that time, he hasn't had much liquid through his mouth, so his tongue and throat have been somewhat dry. This made it difficult for him to speak intelligibly. It sounded like when you're in the dentist chair with your mouth open and you're trying to make yourself understood. For someone with a trained ear, you can be understood, but to someone who isn't used to it, it's difficult to understand.

Anyway, I had no trouble understanding what he was saying. I told him I'd try to make it to the hospital on Saturday, but the day in Leamington went on for quite a bit longer than I originally thought it would, so there was just no time to visit my dad. Sunday (father's day proper) will be my opportunity to see him.

My cold symptoms had been pretty much receding until moments ago. I have just now started getting a bit of a runny nose. I don't know if it's because I haven't slept in quite some time, or if I still have the remnants of a cold. I so desperately want to see my dad, I think I'll just ask for a mask before I enter the room.

Out of ICU

I've been at risk of a cold for the last few days, seeing that my wife showed symptoms a week ago. Late Tuesday night, I finally started showing symptoms of my own, so I've been staying away from the hospital since yesterday. My dad is out of the ICU and back in a room. When I called him this morning to say I may be able to visit in a couple of days, he said "I think I may be out of the hospital by then".

I'd like nothing more to see him healthy and out of the hospital, but what I don't want is to see him unhealthy and out of the hospital. I hope he continues to improve.

Where have you hidden my father?

The man in my dad's bed didn't appear to be the same person I've grown used to seeing over these past weeks. The man I saw yesterday was awake, alert, and had an appetite. He had no SJS rash, no noticeable breathing impairment. In addition, he had a voice and wasn't shy about using it. I tried to help him take a drink, only to be rebuffed so he could do it himself. When I casually remarked to a nurse that he might need physical therapy to recover lost muscle tone, he made a mock fist to "punch me in the nose" - a clear sign that the spirit had begun to return.

When I left him last night, it was just after the nurse had taken his vital signs. Except for a bit of continuing "crackle sounds" in the lungs, all were in the "healthy" range, including his blood-oxygen level, which was at 95% without aid of oxygen or a blood transfusion. With signs like this, I think they'll be transfering him back to a hospital room sometime soon. I only hope he gets the same level of attention he got in the ICU, since it's this extra level of attention that I'm sure is responsible for this second miraculous step back from the brink.

Good news?

The colonoscopy was done Saturday morning. The good news was that there was no source of bleeding found in the colon. The doctor said that the scope only shows the main path through the colon and is unable to show the diverticula. So, the surgeon believes my dad's bleeding may have come from there.

From the referenced website:

... diverticula follow the paths of the arteries as they penetrate the muscle layer of the colon wall. Uncommonly, these same arteries can erode through the thin wall of the diverticulum and cause a major hemorrhage. This usually occurs when a person is elderly. The earliest symptoms are faintness and the appearance of much bright red blood by rectum.

That pretty much describes the colour of the blood we were seeing when he was bleeding. Overnight, my dad maintained good vital signs and experienced no bleeding. The doctors still want to perform an angiography to find the source of the bleeding, but that procedure only works when bleeding is present and profuse. I guess as long as my dad's condition continues to improve, I should be grateful.

Girls are Pretty

Eva's got a blog list that includes Girls are Pretty. The author is not shy at all and uses language that might offend some readers, but it's an interesting read.

Deja vu

Another frantic call. Another trip to the hospital at breakneck speeds. Another set of final goodbyes. Somehow the wires got crossed. Apparently there was a test that could have been performed between the last time my dad was bleeding and today, when he started again. Some mixup as to whether consent had been given appears to be the reason the test was not performed. Now, the test is riskier (after the latest trauma to my dad's battered body); yet conversely more likely to yield positive results (due to the additional blood-letting). When I left him, they were prepping him for a colonoscopy by feeding him massive dosages of fluids. It will wash out his system in preparation for the test. Once we get the results of the test (scheduled for tomorrow morning), we'll know whether surgery is needed.

Fuck

He's bleeding again.

Moonlight Serenade

We did something different last night. My sister, who normally takes the "day shift" at the hospital, wanted a return visit. She asked whether we could go together. With just her and me at the bedside, I decided to give an impromptu rendition of songs I performed as a child (either at my Bar Mitzvah, or at elementary school plays). For some perspective on how long ago all this was, please remember I'm now a grandfather. Anyway, here I am, recalling the words to songs not sung for over 40 years, and my sister joins me (just as she did at my Bar Mitzvah).

Back then, "Mary Poppins" was just being released, and my sister and I had entertained the Bar Mitzvah guests with our renditions of songs from the movie. Though my singing voice has long since become unbearable, performing for my father seemed to be just the medicine he needed. He smiled (both with his mouth and eyes), and his humour was quite evident, as he remarked that my singing was providing him the opportunity to produce several satisfactory bowel movements.

Whether that means he was using the "music" as a cover for his bodily sounds, or whether he was politely saying I sang like shit, I don't really know. What I do know is that my sister and I had fun, and my dad seemed to enjoy the show.

After returning home, I spoke with my other sister (who was only 5 years old during the Bar Mitzvah gig), and she told me she had considered doing the very same thing earlier today when she had visited! Perhaps for tomorrow's visit, she'll add her two cents, thus completing the serenade.

Hang in there!

It's a miracle. The bleeding stopped, all on its own. It was the only scenario the doctors didn't believe would happen, although they had said, theoretically, that it was possible. So, my dad is out of the ICU, not going to have tests, or an operation, and is back in recovery immediate danger, but is still being kept in the ICU for observation and possible further testing.

Hang in there, pops!

Extraordinary measures for an extraordinary father

A few days ago, while my dad was being treated at the hospital, we felt it would be appropriate to broach the subject of extraordinary measures. Should things digress to the point of no hope, would my father want us to do everything possible, including the use of machines, to keep him going. He's a proud and strong man, despite his current condition, and, to no-one's surprise, he indicated heroic measures would not be necessary.

Today, minutes before I was to leave home to visit the hospital, my mom called me. She was crying hysterically, and said that I needed to get to the hospital right away. I had been talking with my sister when the phone rang, so when I got back to her, we decided to go together to the hospital. My dad had bled out, and was being kept alive by massive blood transfusions. We rushed to the hospital.

By the time we got there, my dad had been disconnected from the blood supply, but was still alive. The on-duty doctor explained that his bowel was probably ruptured, his blood pressure couldn't be maintained for very long, and he prepared us for the end. There was, he said, a slim possibility of prolonging his life with surgery, but the prognosis was not good. Again, we put the question to my dad about the possibility of surgery, and again, he said he had had enough. As he began to slip away, I placed a call to my sister in Toronto, hoping that somehow, she would be able to get down here in time to say goodbye. We also called the rabbi.

Within a half hour, my dad's blood pressure had dropped to the point where he needed to be transfered from the ward to the ICU. In the ICU, where they are better equipped to deal with such outbreaks, they started a couple of new lines from which they could infuse blood into his system more quickly. The standard veins in his arm had collapsed, as had one lung. Renal function was severly decreased, and oxygen levels were falling to critical levels. Blood pressure was now being reported in grim terms.

The doctors' efforts in the ICU were unbelievable. Within an hour, they had stabilized him to the point where the family could once again come to his side. Except for my sister, who was still making her way in from Toronto, the entire family was at the bedside, including some very close cousins whom we had contacted from the hospital. The ICU doctor gathered the family to discuss options. None were particularly good, although he made it clear there were still options available to us to try to extend my dad's life and give him one last chance at recovery. Being fully aware of my dad's intentions, we initially balked at any heroic measures. We were leaning more toward providing a sedative that would allow my dad slip quietly away in his sleep. But then, we started to think about the options. As described, although they weren't particularly optimistic, the doctors did indicate that if they could determine the cause of the internal bleeding, and if the damaged tissue was relatively localized, there was a chance that his life could be saved. With much help and physical therapy, my dad might once again enjoy a quality of life that would be worth the effort.

Our family approached his bed in the ICU. By now, he had blood being fed from three separate lines, and oxygen was also being administered. We could see the monitors showing a lower than ideal rate for blood pressure, respiration, and pulse. Oxygen levels were all that was acceptable, and that was due to the massive blood transfusions. We explained to my dad what the doctor had told us... that without further treatment, he would be gone by morning; and that with treatment, there were no guarantees. We told him he'd need to be placed on a ventilator soon, to preserve his respiration and reduce the need for the blood, which, while keeping him alive, was complicating the efforts to keep him breathing. We told him that after some tests were run, he might have to have surgery to repair his bowels, or that his bowels may completely die and have to be removed. We told him he might have to use a colostomy bag for the rest of his life. Most of all, we told him that we all loved him, and weren't prepared to say goodbye if there was even a chance that he could be saved.

Finally, it was his choice to make. He looked at us all. And then he said "I want to fight". So now, we have a clear directive. The test will be done. Surgery will be performed if required. He may die tomorrow in the process, but it won't be because he gave up on life, or because we allowed ourselves to give up on him.

A discouraging word

Dad's progress is slipping. I was there for a couple of hours today, but even though he saw me for a minute or two, I doubt he remembers I was there. He was quite lethargic when awake, and awake very little. He didn't seem like his rash had gotten any worse, but then again, when someone appears to be sleeping, rather than struggling to communicate, it's hard to know what's going on inside.

It's quite discouraging at the moment.

Back to Earth

I spent several hours with my dad today. He wasn't the energetic man I expected to see, although he was able to feed himself, lift himself (with some help) from his chair to walk (again, with some help) to the bathroom, and spend more time sitting than lying down. It's an improvement, but according to the doctors, the SJS is still around and will need to be dealt with, and his course of antibiotics began again tonight.

I suppose that, compared to last night, he was still in better shape, but a far cry from what my sister had described to me this morning.

Oh well, I guess it was too good to last.

Boris and Natasha

I am blogging during working hours. Trust me, this post is worth it.

I remember watching Rocky and Bullwinkle as a child. Boris and Natasha were my favourite characters. The line "in with the bad air, out with the good" has always stuck with me. And today it's so apropos. In yesterday's visit to my father, I neglected to mention a couple of things. I didn't leave them out on purpose... they just slipped my mind.

My dad had a bone marrow test yesterday (results still pending), and he had a blood transfusion.

So, just now, I got a call from my sister at the hospital. Unbelievable. It had to be the transfusion. Take some good, clean wholesome blood, feed it to someone with low platelets, blood infection, and possible bone marrow disease, and what do you get? An 84 year old man who wants to get out of bed (for the first time in weeks), stroll around the hospital with a wheeled walker (the regular kind didn't go fast enough for his liking), go to the bathroom like a real man and start joking around like the man we all know he is!

Of course, I've seen this level of recovery before, and I'm not going to allow my spirits to be lifted too high until I see how long-lived this new condition will be. But now, at least, there is hope.

Now, I've got to get back to work.

Oh what fun

My blog uses a style sheet to display it's content, like most other sites on the web. In order to "jazz" the screen up a bit, I use a different colour and font to display my links when someone mouses over them. That's no big deal. But I just read my previous post (the Fantastic Idea) and tried to click on the link embedded in the story. I use IE 6, and 1024 x 768 1280 x 1024 resolution on my computer. When my mouse passed over the link, it changed to it's "mouse-over" font, which is somewhat smaller than when normally displayed. The change in font size was enough to make the link move to a different part of the screen, so that the mouse was no longer hovering over the link. Because of that, I was not able to activate the link! If I tried to "sneak up" on it, I was sometimes able to highlight it and stealthily move to the other part of the screen and re-click on the highlighted link, but most of the time, that darn link became quite illusive.

I wonder if anyone else who uses a different screen resolution has experienced this problem on my blog.

Updated to fix an incorrect statement about my screen settings

What a fantastic idea!

I think every child has done this at some point in their life... created a deck of flash cards with slightly different images, which, when the deck is fanned, appears to be a motion picture.

Some advertising company has used this premise to create "motion picture" advertising inside darkened train tunnels. As the train passes each lit advertising panel, part of the message is delivered, and over the course of the trip, the message unfolds in motion pictures.

Hmm, I wonder how that works when trains are travelling in the opposite direction?

Downhill Racer

Dad's taken a turn for the worse. His SJS is on the upswing, and the doctors are debating what his course of treatment should be. Some say he needs to get back on the steroids (which, in higher doses, had been effective in reducing the symptoms) for an indefinite period. Unfortunately, being on higher doses of steroids for an extended period has undesirable side effects, like mood swings and high blood sugar. Being on steroids would require that insulin injections be administered on an ongoing basis.

Other doctors are suggesting we begin treating him with suppressive drugs... those that suppress the rejection mechanisms of the body, and hopefully eliminating the sensitivity to the drugs that is causing the SJS. This course of therapy might make him more susceptible to infection, since his body would be less likely to fight the foreign body.

Neither course of treatment is particularly appealing, but things are getting pretty desperate. As my dad weakens, he loses his appetite and becomes listless. At times, the fighting spirit that's kept him going for so long seems to get dimmer. He swears he's not going to give up the fight, but it's really tough when everything you hear going on around you is discouraging.

There was one small victory today. He was breathing without aid of oxygen. Unfortunately, he was running a fever for much of the day, so that indicates to me that the infection may again be getting the upper hand.

Surprising turn of events

I suppose if I was a medical professional, I would know these things. Unfortunately, I'm not, so it came as quite a shock today when I visited the hospital and saw my dad with no IV tube. He's had a continuous stream of IVs for hydration and antibiotics, but they had been discontinued as of today. When I asked why, the answer was almost too obvious. It seems there is just as much danger in continuing antibiotic treatments for too long as there is in discontinuing them before you're supposed to. So, for a few days at least, my dad won't be receiving any medication beyond what he would take if he were at home.

He's still on oxygen, and that's good, because his chart indicated his oxygenation had become worse overnight. His blood-sugar is still very high, and it's believed the infection is the cause of that (since the diminishing doses of steroids were discontinued yesterday). The rash has gotten worse since the last time I saw my dad, although his face has totally cleared up. He was supposed to have a bone marrow test today, but the doctor didn't show up, so he'll have that tomorrow instead.

My dad was quite tired this evening, and hadn't eaten much during the day, although he did have a small glass of milk and half an ice-cream cup. Hopefully, his appetite will return tomorrow.

Birthday Dinner - a break from the routine

Spending nights at the hospital has become pretty much routine these days. Today, I'm taking a "selfish" break to have a birthday evening with my wife and family. A leisurely dinner, time in front of the TV, and just doing nothing at all. Sounds really good after the events of the past few weeks.

Happy Birthday to me!

All I want for my birthday are two healthy parents. My mom was in the emergency room yesterday, probably a victim of the high stress we're all undergoing during the current medical crisis with my dad. Thankfully, the pain she's been feeling in her chest is "just" stress, nothing more severe, so she was released from the emergency room without treatment.

Still, it's good to know she'll be OK. My dad seemed to be doing quite well yesterday as well. He had a healthy appetite, and seemed to be getting better on many fronts.

Taking their music seriously

For those of you who play a string instrument, you know how important it is that it be properly tuned. Have any of you wondered what lengths someone might go to to have their instrument tuned to perfection? I'd venture to say if there is a Guiness Record for highest cost, this would be it.

On a lighter note...

Nothing on my mind lately except my father's recovery. So, it was refreshing to scan the internet and see this news story about a sexual deviant who had this reaction to being caught in the act.

Amen.

Roller Coaster Ride

Another day, another symptom. The rash has returned. Whether it's SJS emerging again as the steroid doses are cut back, or whether it's something else (someone suggested septicemia) I don't know. I do know that for most of the day on Friday, my dad seemed weaker than the previous day. He needed to be fed (as opposed to feeding himself). There were a couple of times that he seemed to be "out of it", saying things that didn't seem quite right.

By the end of the day, he was drinking by himself (holding cups without spilling) and eating nearly everything put in front of him (thank goodness he still has an appetite). Today, the plan is to remove the catheter, as this may be a contributing cause of the bladder infection. If the platelet count doesn't improve soon, the doctors will need to check whether the bone marrow has been infected.

Also, the doctor yesterday confirmed that my dad has contracted pneumonia (always a strong possibility when immobilized with infection for long periods). They seem to have that under control, but I wish they had informed me of their fears earlier. I might have taken better care to isolate myself and other family members from possible contamination. Still, despite the pneumonia, his breathing seems to be stable, if not improving.

Anyway, it's time to get to the hospital, so I've got to run for now.

A mixed bag

Today, things are a mixed bag. My dad started the day feeding himself. Yup, he poured his own milk into his own oatmeal, and ate with a spoon! Can you believe that?

But then later, when he was given his standard blood tests, his platelet count was down dramatically, to levels considered quite unsafe. Doctors now think the blood infection may have spread to his bone marrow. These are only preliminary guesses, so I'm going to try to remain positive.

My dad is getting better - slowly

Unbelievable! My dad has such a will to live, I just can't believe it! On Tuesday, I was at the hospital at 2:00PM. I had hoped to leave at 8:00PM, but my dad specifically asked that I stay. He had been coughing terribly - those wet, wheezy, mucousy coughs that signalled some sort of chest infection. And his limbs were bloated with edema. I didn't leave the hospital until 11:00PM, and only then, after ensuring that the nursing staff had set up emergency suction, in case my dad started to choke on his own phlegm.

Imagine my relief when I arrived at 2:00PM Wednesday, to see him breathing without wheezing (though still with an assist from an oxygen feed). I noticed that the only time he choked was when he inadvertently tried to take nutrition through a straw and ended up breathing in the food (rather than sucking it in) through his straw. By evening, he was able to speak a bit more clearly, and tried to give us (my sister and I) a show of his sense of humour.

So, I was able to leave at 8:00PM with a clear conscience, and the knowledge that he will most likely make it through tonight with little discomfort.

How I spent Victoria Day

Victoria day is traditionally celebrated here with fireworks. Unlike the Freedom Festival in July (where Canada and the US celebrate a joint holiday with a large fireworks display), the fireworks on Victoria Day are more subdued and personal. People buy personal fireworks for their back yards and fields, and the sound of cherry bombs (illegal but somehow, readily available) can be heard everywhere. I was hoping the hospital would effectively shield my dad from these sounds, since, in his current condition, they could be interpretted as sounds of war. I had nothing to fear in that regard... the hospital was quite soundproof.

I got there at 2:00PM today, expecting to stay until the end of visiting hours at 6:00PM. Being a holiday, visiting hours were restricted today. When I got there, I was pleasantly surprised to see that my baby sister was there with my mom, and they had been there since 12:30PM. I guess my dad must have enjoyed his massage, because he told my sister about it! When I arrived, I saw her giving him a backrub.

I'm afraid my dad didn't look well on Monday. He often motioned to us to come near, but he was speaking with much difficulty, in the most hushed tones, and we often could not understand what he wanted. He gestured, but even these motions were difficult to decipher. All-in-all it was a frustrating visit. The more we wanted to understand him, and the more we wanted to do for him, the less we understood what he wanted. His breathing was so laboured, at various times he was given a Nitro-spray (a dose under the tongue to help "revive" you), and an oxygen mask. He coughed up so much phlegm, we thought he might have pneumonia; although the doctors didn't think he had actually contracted it.

The doctors did say, however, that the battery of drugs he was receiving left him quite vulnerable to further infection and pneumonia.

My mom and sister left the hospital some time after 7:20PM, and I stayed until 8:00PM. I am posting this some time after 5:00AM on Tuesday morning, and I called the hospital just before writing this post to check with his nurse. She said he survived the night, and is resting comfortably.

Gambling man

Before going to bed early Saturday morning, I had emailed my sisters about my dad's condition, then tried to get some sleep. My mom was the first to call. She woke me before 9:00AM to ask what room my dad was in. Although I gave her the information she wanted, I also told her she could have found out just as easily from the hospital. I guess I snapped at her, but I was tired. I fell asleep again. Less than an hour later, my sister called to let me know she had called the hospital, and my dad had gotten through the morning OK. I went back to sleep again, and stayed there until noon, when my wife woke me up to go to lunch.

After lunch, I visited the hospital and stayed until nearly dinner time. I probably should have changed my plans, but we had made arrangements to have guests to our home for the holiday weekend, and we didn't want to change our plans at the last minute. Still, I had gotten a chance to see my dad for a good few hours.

Sunday morning, my sister called. She reported that dad had taken a turn for the worse, and that the infections ravaging his body had now infected his blood. Doctors were only giving him a 50/50 chance to survive the next 48 hours. I called my baby sister in Toronto, and told her to get herself to Windsor. Then I called my dad to let him know I'd be visiting him later in the day. I couldn't make out what he said in response.

Sunday afternoon, after my wife returned from church, and after we had eaten lunch, she asked whether she could accompany me to the hospital. I know that she doesn't like hospitals, and is having a tough time dealing with the aging of our respective parents. Still, I agreed that she should come. My wife is a beautiful soul, and her smile exudes love. As she stood by my father's side and held his hand, he looked lovingly at her. I'm sure he was feeling the love she brings to my life, and was celebrating the fact that I would have a wonderful partner to see me through my old age. While she held his hand, I massaged his legs and feet, bringing sensation to his extremities. He really seemed to enjoy the rub.

This visit wasn't as long as I would have liked, but we again had things that needed to get done, so my wife and I left after a couple of hours.

Later that night, my baby sister called to let me know she had arrived in town. I think she might have visited the hospital on Sunday evening, but I wasn't there, so I can't say for sure.

Death - it's nothing like you see on TV

I've been to the emergency room before, but tonight was different. It was a busy Friday night, the first night of a long holiday weekend in Canada. My dad's Acute Care station was just across from the ambulance unloading bay. Everyone who was admitted to the emergency room had to pass by my dad's station, which was adjacent to the nurse's monitoring station. As I sat with my father, comforting him, holding his hand, stroking his face, watching him deteriorate in front of my eyes, I began to despair. It was the first time I had ever seen him so weak, and the first time I had ever heard him talk about his own death in a matter-of-fact manner. Until now, his thoughts on death were that it would come soon enough, "but not yet" (to steal a line from Gladiator). He said things to me, in a voice not loud enough to qualify as a whisper, that a man says when he thinks he's near the end of his days. They were beautiful things, the things a dad says to a son or daughter, the things that don't get said while all is well. I tried desperately to hold back my tears. Thankfully, he was drifting off into laboured sleep often enough to find opportunities to dry my tears and slip away for short periods to compose myself.

Occasionally, a nurse would come by to check the IV line, adjust the monitor, or ask whether my dad needed anything. For the most part, however, my dad was left in my care, to sleep, to wake, and to smile as he saw my ever-present face.

I think it happened around 1:00AM, though I didn't check my watch. I had heard them call the code, and vaguely remember the sounds of hustling staff. And then the wail... a sound unlike any I had ever heard. You can watch as many newsreels as you like, and I've watched my share, but to hear the sound of death with your own ears, happening not 50 feet from where I sat, was something that will haunt me always.

Except to say that the words were foreign, I don't know what language was spoken. It really didn't matter. No translation was necessary. Voices, young and old, proclaimed the passing of a loved one.

I began to cry. My first instinct was to find and console those that were crying. I hadn't seen them... didn't know them... but I knew they needed company. And then I looked at my father. He had managed to sleep through the awful sounds, and they hadn't even seemed to register on his sub-conscious, because I didn't see evidence that his recurring nightmares of the Nazi concentration camps had been any more intense than usual.

I was to learn afterward that the room had been available since 8:30PM the night before, but due to paperwork SNAFU's, the busier-than-usual night, and a shift change mixup, my dad did not get taken to his room until after 2:00AM. The resident on duty wanted to know whether I would stay to help fill in the medical history, and I indicated I would. By the time she got back to me, it was more than an hour later, and I was finally finished by 3:45AM. My father was now resting as comfortably as could be expected, and I was completely wiped out. I got home at 4:15AM, tried to unwind, and finally got to sleep around 6:00AM.

So, where were we...

When I last posted, my dad had been brought to the resthome and I was going to bring the TV.

I brought him his TV first thing Friday morning, and had it hooked up in minutes. I had intended to leave to go to work, but all did not look well with my dad. He was listless, and complaining of pain to his ribs. He could barely speak, and movement was nearly impossible. He complained of a sore neck as well. I thought that he might have fallen out of bed during the night, or been injured by the staff of the nursing home. But, he confirmed to me that the damage had occurred when he was being quickly transferred to and from the ambulance the previous day. It seems that Emergency Response Team members are more concerned with getting you to the hospital quickly than ensuring you are comfortably transported.

He didn't seem to have much of an appetite, and for the first time, he was having trouble taking his medications. The nurse assigned to him was having some success getting him to take the meds, but it was clear that she was falling behind her schedule while looking after my dad, and it was beginning to show in her attitude.

My sister and mother visited my dad while I was still there, and he seemed to enjoy the company. The only thing is... my mom was not very happy about our decision to place my dad in the resthome, and she was arguing with us within earshot of my dad. I'm certain the disagreement was causing him distress, as he seemed to be having more and more trouble breathing.

I couldn't take the combative atmosphere, and finally excused myself sometime around 1:00PM to finally get to work. Having not yet eaten breakfast, I took a bit of a leisurely lunch break before heading back to my home-office. I had only been working for 15 minutes when my sister called. My dad's laboured breathing was being caused by fluid in the lungs, according to a nurse at the home, and he was running a high temperature (105 F). My sister had instructed the nurse to call for an ambulance.

During one of the worst thunderstorms / tornado watches I can recall, the ambulance came and rushed my dad to the hospital ... AGAIN!

My sister, bless her soul, was, by this time, being labeled the family villain. My mother resented the decision to put my dad in the resthome, and my dad resented her for arguing with my mom. My sister finally hit the breaking point, saying she would have nothing further to do with managing my dad's health care. She basically drove my mom home, and said adios. I really don't blame her. You don't know my mom. She's a real piece of work, but that's a story for my therapist, not this blog.

I had been informed that my dad would not be returning to the resthome. If he were ever released from the hospital, he would be returning home to the care of a live-in nurse. So, while the ambulance sped off with my dad, and my sister drove my mom home, I was left to clean out his room at the resthome.

I spent much of Friday night at the hospital in the emergency room. I had been thinking I would avoid the hospital that night, because there would be too many people there. It turned out that when I arrived around 7:30PM, my mom was there, but not my sister. My mom had been there since 4:00PM and stayed another half hour. At that point, I took my position at the side of the bed, and decided to stay with him in the emergency room.

Will it ever end?

What a difference a day makes. Wednesday at noon, my dad was released from the hospital. I spoke with him by phone when he got home. He sounded perfect, and I visited him during the afternoon. He actually looked surprisingly healthy! Except for the rash, which will take several weeks to clear, he was back to his vibrant, funny, take-charge self. It was a joy to behold.

Thursday morning, just before 8:00AM, I got a call from my mother. She was calling to let me know that some time around 3:00AM, my father had screamed for help and my mother came running, only to find him laying on the floor of the bedroom. He hadn't fallen... he was just too tired to get back into bed after a trip to the bathroom. She's nearly 80 herself, and couldn't get him off the floor, so she called the ambulance. Good thing too. When they got to him, he was close to death. I shit you not.

From miraculous recovery to a near-death experience, in a matter of hours.

He would later tell the nurse at the resthome that it was the worst night of his life, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

He spent about 7 hours in the emergency room, on fluids, before the doctors basically said that all he really needed was close medical supervision, so he would take his meds and do what's required to get well. Without even admitting him to a room, he was discharged into the care of my mother and taken home.

This is the second time he's left the hospital in good shape only tor return in under 24 hours. And each time, the downhill slide had come faster than the time before. My sister and I had decided that what was necessary was close supervision outside the hospital. After some calls, we decided that the best course of action would be to have him in a private nursing home - at least until he can completely recover from the current bout with SJS. Within hours of making this decision, he was registered at a local nursing home, and we moved him out of the house.

At least now, he can be cared for by professionals, and my mother can be alleviated of the burden of trying to care for my dad. Last night was his first full night there, and since he doesn't yet have phone service, I don't know how the night went. I do know that my name was the "emergency contact" on the admission form, and I didn't get a call. So hopefully, things didn't go too badly for him.

Today, I have to bring him his TV set and make arrangements for him to get phone service.

I can't sleep

It's early Wednesday morning, and I can't seem to fall asleep. My dad is supposed to be released from the hospital today. He still has all the outward signs of the Syndrome, but the doctors say he's recovering nicely and has been flirting incessantly with the nurses. I am a bit reluctant to see him getting out before he's completely cured. After all, I think he was prematurely released after the surgery on May 5th, indirectly causing the syndrome in the first place. When I see him in person, he seems to be getting stronger, though he still looks terrible. And when I speak to him on the phone, he sounds so weak and frail. I don't think he's got that many miraculous recoveries left in him, so I don't want to push his luck.

Permanent eye damage averted

In what has been the best response yet by his team of physicians, the lead doctor called for an opthamologist consult, and that doctor has determined that no serious damage has been done to my father's vision. That's so gratifying, since the affected eye is the stronger of his two; and had it been damaged, my dad could have been declared legally blind. I guess good luck continues to ride on his shoulder.

1 in a million

I've always said my dad is special. Now, just a week after his 84th birthday, I have conclusive proof. Stevens/Johnson Syndrome, developed in 1.1 of every million surgical patients, seems to be the diagnosis-du-jour for my dad's condition. Seeing him in the hospital yesterday, with open wounds on his face, arms, neck, and body, brought me close to tears. For a man who's suffered through Buchenwald concentration camp, prostate cancer, triple-bypass surgery, and most recently, congestive heart failure and a pacemaker implant, seeing him complain of "burning lips" seemed like a petty reaction to what I thought was a simple allergic reaction to medication.

Now, as I read about the symptoms of Stevens/Johnson Syndrome, and how the symptoms are akin to those in severe burn patients, I understand his pain. And I am hopeful that he will see his way clear to allowing the hospital staff to properly treat this condition. Again, according to what I've read, the treatment may involve a hospital stay of several weeks, as doctors attempt to stabilize the condition, rehydrate the affected areas, and re-introduce the lost nutrients to his system. I've read there may be permanent eye damage resulting from this condition, though I am hopeful this does not come to pass. I must say that his initial symptoms were diagnosed as an eye infection and thrush, for which he was given medications which now turn out to have done more harm than good.

Another turn for the worse

In the continuing saga of my dad's recuperation, things have taken another turn for the worse. The initial reaction to the antibiotics was treated with more medication, and this proved ineffective. While getting just a tad better than at his worst, my dad is still being adversely affected by something in the post-op cycle, and today, he deteriorated to the point where he had to be readmitted to the hospital.

I am very scared.

Welcome to our home

For those who've followed my blog through the years, you know I lost my job a couple of years ago, and we had to drastically downsize our house. Thankfully, my wife is very resourceful, and has great taste. I'm very proud of the job she's done, making the smaller house a home. I've decided to share with you a picture of our living room. As cramped as it is, my wife has still managed to transform it into a very comfortable area, and she's particularly smitten with the art gallery look we've added since Christmas.

Allergy identified and dealt with

So, the allergic reaction caused a skin rash that no-one at the hospital noticed, and the skin rash escalated into something more severe. By afternoon, the rash had turned to pustules and they had begun to pop. Thankfully, my sister spent most of the day sorting things out, and after a trip to hospital emergency, he's now been hooked up with Benadryl and a different antibiotic. Things should start to improve from here.

Post-op complications

I swear, nothing seems to go easy these days. I posted on Wednesday night (actually early Thursday morning) on just how well my dad looked at the hospital. He was smiling, joking, flirting with the nurses, and that twinkle in his eye was shining at full strength. I visited him at home on Thursday evening, after he had been released from the hospital, and I swear someone switched his body for someone else.

His voice was gravelly - so different than what he usually sounds like, and his face and lips were so puffy he was barely recognizable. Apparently, things didn't get any better on Friday, so when the home-visitation nurse came to check on him, she commented to my sister that the swelling in his face wasn't normal. My sister took dad to an after-hours clinic last night, and apparently, he's having some sort of allergic reaction to the pain and/or antibiotic medications he was given after his release. So now, he's taking even more pills to combat the allergic effects of the other medication.

And all these medications are now in addition to the 16 other pills he's been taking on a daily basis since his pacemaker implant. I thank God he has the wits to keep his medications straight, and the will-to-live to keep taking them all. It's really painful to see him looking so strange, and of course, I think he's feeling discomfort, which makes it all the more intolerable. I'll be so happy when he's gotten over the hump and returns to normal.

Successful surgery

When my dad underwent his pacemaker implant last month in Phoenix, the doctors there tried to hook up a colostomy bag to make him more comfortable during his recovery. Unfortunately, in an attempt to find the proper spot, the doctors accidentally nicked some old scar tissue from a prior medical procedure and did some damage to the previously healed tissue. This caused a slow leak of internal bleeding that the doctors in Phoenix recommended he have looked at, once he had regained his strength.

Today was the day his procedure was due to be performed. There had been some concern that he would be unable to cope with a general anaesthetic, since he had been complaining recently of some weakness and shortness of breath. Thankfully, the procedure only required a local anaesthetic, and it went off without a hitch. Apparently, the surgery was a success, and my dad is due to leave the hospital tomorrow, or Friday at the latest.

And seeing him tonight at the hospital, I have to say this is the best he's looked since the pacemaker was implanted. I am confident he will make a full recovery.

Eureka!

That night, having returned home after failing to get the equipment properly hooked up, I had a brainstorm. Of course the darned connection didn't work! When I was watching the cable TV channel, piped in directly from the wall hookup, I realized that the tuner in the TV had been tuned to the station he had been watching. And then I sheepishly remembered that to watch ANY external source (VCR, DVD, auxillary input), the TV would need to be tuned to Channel 3! DUH!!!! I felt so stupid.

During the afternoon of May 4th, I kept thinking about how dumb I had been not to think of this the day before. Since I was having an unproductive afternoon with work (I think I was coming down with something - I was feeling very warm and could barely keep my eyes open), I decided to visit my father and test out my theory.

Sure enough, as soon as I switched the TV to channel 3, I got a perfect signal from the DVD player.

Dad has been resisting all of our attempts to get a computer, a newer TV, or anything technological in nature. At his age, he keeps insisting that such a purchase would not be worth the investment. Mind you, he's been putting this argument forward for more than 10 years. Just imagine how much fun he could have been having if he had relented all those years ago. Regardless, when I got the DVD working, and inserted a picture disk with hundreds of digital photos (both direct camera shots, as well as old, scanned pictures), his eyes lit up. And he said something I would have never believed possible. He thanked me for doing this, against his wishes, and admitted that the idea was wonderful.

I had made a variety of test disks to take to his house, to see what formats the DVD player would be able to read. Of the three disks I cut, two (CD-Rs) were readable. The CD-RW was not readable, because it was actually produced on a Mt. Ranier compatible CD-RW drive, so the format was actually CD-MRW, which could not be read by the player.

Over the next few days, I'm going to cut a proper CD-R disk with thousands of family pictures, and give them all to him. Once he learns how to use the player, I'm sure it will be one of his favourite past-times.

Happy Birthday Dad - Day 3

Day 3 was actually May 3rd, my dad's actual birthday. By the time that day rolled around, all the out of town guests had returned to Toronto, and my dad was finally able to get a day to himself. I came over for a while during the evening to try to set up the DVD player my sister had bought. Since he has an old TV with only a cable-input, I had purchased a multi-input converter... something that would allow him to plug the cable input and the DVD into a single box, and would hook up to his TV via the cable input connector.

I spent nearly an hour trying to get the thing hooked up, because first, he didn't have a power source close enough to the TV (i.e. a power source with enough empty plugs to accommodate the new equipment). Rummaging through the miscellaneous crap drawer in the utility room, we came up with a polarized extension cord. Next, he didn't have an extra cable patch cord to go from the converter to his set. A quick trip to Wal-Mart solved the latter problem (thank God they're open past 9PM). I hooked everything up, hoping to see great things happen, only to find a snow-filled screen any time the DVD player was turned on. I tried for a half hour to find the problem, but finally had to give up. I resolved to return the next day with a good quality S-Video cable, instead of the crappy RCA's that came with the converter.

Despite my failure, my dad seemed truly appreciative of my efforts.

Happy Birthday Dad - Day 2

Day 2 of the birthday marathon went exceedingly well. Christie, Jesse and the kids came. Jonathan also was there, as were my parents (of course), both my sisters and my brother-in-law. And for a while, the dogs were allowed to have the run of the house, a kind of "coming out" party for Jasmine.

She was a great hit, of course. And it was simply amazing how Jasmine got along with Emily and Courtney.

The previous night, my sister had dropped a broad hint that she had intended to buy a DVD player for my dad. She needed my assistance to ensure it would be technically capable of playing all the required types of disks, and be compatible with the old-style TV my dad uses. So, on Sunday morning, we went shopping for the DVD, and after buying one, it was up to me to work out the connection details. My sister gave the DVD player to my dad in the morning. Later, when everyone was over my house, I gave him the second part of the gift - the connection/conversion box needed to feed the signal to his TV set. On Monday, I'll visit my parent's house to install everything.

Happy Birthday Dad - Day 1

Having come close to losing my dad over the past month, this birthday takes on added significance. Although his actual birthday is on Monday, the entire family has decided to make this weekend an extended birthday celebration. My sister came from out of town for the occasion, as did my niece and her husband, bringing their 16 month old son (my dad's first natural great-grandchild) and dog. Tomorrow, day 2 of the celebration will be at my home, and my dad will get to visit with my step-children, and their children (though technically not his great-grandchildren, they've been around for 5 and 1 year respectively).

I won't spoil the surprise by saying what's in store for him tomorrow, but I know he'll enjoy it.

Happy Birthday, Lilli

I called Lilli today. Lilli was a tomboy that lived just kitty-corner from my home when we were growing up. We went to the same primary school and the same highschool, and grew to be good friends over the years. So much so that we have a tradition of calling eachother on our birthdays. Lilli is 33 days older than I am, and I've always gotten a kick out of calling her the "older woman". When I called her last year, she wasn't home, so I left a message on her machine. Today, I got through to her in person, and she confided that the message I left for her had remained on her machine for over 6 months - as a reminder of our friendship.

I hardly ever see her... she and her husband and family live in a different city, and I think it's been over ten years since I saw her last. Still, she sounds just like the Lilli I remember as a boy, and I still see in my mind's eye the young girl who went nearly two years without saying a word to me in response to my accepting her dare to do something ungentlemanly (I think I was about 12 or 13 at the time). So today, some 40 years later, we celebrate our continued friendship.

I think tomorrow I'll leave a message on her machine, to keep her company for the next six months.

For Lindsey...

You'll need patience or a high-speed connection to get the best enjoyment from this post - high resolution pictures of the pup. Due to limited bandwidth on my account, the 25MB movie clip will only be available to those that send a request (including your email address) in the comments - and then, you might still have to wait if my bandwidth limit is exceeded (sorry).

Edited to add: I noticed that when the post is actually on my blog, the original links don't work (they work fine in PREVIEW mode). I guess the hosting company doesn't allow referral links, and requires that you either enter URLs directly from the browser, or visit through an HTML page on their server. To make things more convenient, I have RELUCTANTLY been forced to supply an HTML link to an unformatted page thrown together on their server.

Link to pictures page on my hosting service - sorry for the banner ads!

Happiness is...

A brand new bouncing puppy! Jasmine is so full of life - and pee, and poop! And she's so fond of letting fly whenever the urge strikes her. It's so much fun to watch my frazzled wife running after her, trying to catch her before she squats in the house. And Rosie is finally coming to terms with the loss of her older sister. Who would have thought that dogs would be so broken up about the loss of a room-mate. Rosie didn't eat for three days after Daisy was taken from her... just starting to show signs of a returning appetite this evening. But Rosie has been very friendly to the new puppy, and the games they are playing are ones that Rosie never got the opportunity to play with her more sedate, lethargic, sister. Tag, keepaway, and spin the puppy (a game where both dogs grab opposite ends of a pull-toy, and Rosie does her impression of an on-the-spot spin, while poor Jasmine, feet off the floor, hangs on for dear life!).

What a hoot they are to watch!

The other hoot is watching Jasmine try to emulate every move Rosie makes - including an attempt to drink from a rain bucket sitting a good 14-16 inches off the ground. For Rosie, it's a comfortable height; for Jasmine, she has to drag herself up the slope to get a tongue in. I have SO MANY PICTURES, it's hard to decide what to post. I could easily run out of server space. I'll have to investigate some free space for hosting pictures. And the MOVIE CLIPS we've been able to take are just stunning. We're all so happy with the new puppy!

Meet Jasmine

The last time we lost a dog, it was devastating. Not only was the loss immense, but the feeling of loneliness and despair that it caused us was indescribable. We waited nine days before replacing our beloved Shasta, and it was an agonizing time for us all. This time, we've decided not to wait. Today, we purchased a new black lab pup, which we have named Jasmine. She'll come home tomorrow, and, subject to an inspection by our vet, will become the newest member of our family.




There is a two-dog-maximum ordinance in our community, so we won't be able to keep Daisy much longer. In a way, putting her down before her disease robs her of her dignity and lifeforce seems like the right thing to do.

Daisy Dog to Die

Daisy, the older of our two black labs, is living on borrowed time. She went to the vet yesterday for tests, after we noticed a recent drop in her appetite, and a change in the colour of her stools. The tests were expensive, but the very least we owed our beloved companion. The vet praised us for noticing her change so quickly. Unfortunately, the downside to our quick reaction was that the results of the non-invasive test were inconclusive. According to the vet, we can proceed in one of two ways. We can start giving her expensive medications to try to help her recover some liver function (it's not a cure, just a way of helping her cope), or we can perform exploratory surgery, which might help locate the source of the problem, but would not guarantee that a cure would be found.

The cost of the medication or surgery is prohibitive given our financial situation, and she's already approaching the twilight years - where the amount of time left in her expected lifespan would not justify the expense - so we need to come to terms with the fact that Daisy's days are numbered. She looks so sad - seeming to know that her world is about to change - but she's trying to be a trooper. I think she's providing more comfort to me (sensing my dread) than I am to her.

I personally chose Daisy among several puppies in her litter. She's so sweet, calm, and adoring - all the traits of the black lab, without the over-exhuberance of her younger "sister". It will be very hard to put her down, and I wish there was some way she could live out her remaining time happy and pain-free. Now, I just need to get up the nerve to take the next step.

Tax day - come and gone

Yesterday was the deadline for U.S. tax return submission. It's due April 30th in Canada. This year, I filed early, and by sheer coincidence, my refund arrived yesterday. That same day, I finally heard back from the framing gallery that my pictures were ready for pickup. And today, we had to take one of our dogs to the vet for a fairly expensive set of x-rays and examinations. The framing gallery and vet bills will just nicely eat up that tax refund. Oh well...

Small minds

There are times when my mind is at rest, and a visual stimulus will just strike me as funny. I was reading a news article online, and my mouse cursor just happened to be off to the side resting on a picture. When that happens, the standard arrow changes to a little hand, with the index finger extended. The index finger just happened to be positioned on the nostril of the man in the picture. At first glance, I didn't even realize it was my cursor... I thought the guy had been caught on camera picking his nose.

Just thought I'd share that.

Close call

I'm back. Since last Monday, I've been in Phoenix. I had to rush down there to be with my father, who suffered congestive heart failure on Sunday, April 4th, just two days before he was scheduled to return to Canada after his winter vacation. It was a frantic week. Having experienced an all-too-close brush with death, my father finally was released from the hospital on Thursday night. Good Friday was anything but... since, due to the holiday, I was unable to buy the medications that had been prescribed by the doctors who treated him. By Saturday morning, my father had taken another turn for the worse... luckily, he responded very favourably to the drugs once I was able to find them (one in particular was so rare, I had to try four pharmacies before I found one that stocked it).

Finally, I had to reschedule his (and my mom's) flight back to Canada, since they had missed the original one on April 6th. I scheduled myself on the same flight, so I could take care of anything that might go wrong on the plane, and so that I could co-ordinate transportation from the airport back to my parents' home.

Since my parents had a whole winter full of luggage they wished to bring home, I had arranged an Airport Shuttle for them. I had to travel separately, so I could return the rental car before going to the airport terminal. Unfortunately, the main highway link from my parents' part of the city to the airport was under construction today. The detour was overcrowded, and by the time I was able to make it to the car lot to return the rental, it was too late to catch my flight. That meant that my parents were on the plane without me, and without transportation home.

I had very little time to arrange alternate ground transportation for my parents, since I was also trying to arrange alternate air transport for myself, and the next available flight was so close to my arrival time at the airport, there was scarcely time to make some calls. Luckily, I was able to contact my wife and sister, and between them, they were able to make alternate ground transportation arrangements. I was also lucky enough to find time to leave a phone message at the ticket counter for my parents, so they at least knew I would be missing the flight. I had been concerned that if I didn't show up, they would purposely not board the plane so we could remain together.

Thankfully, everything worked out, and my parents made it home ok. I got home about a half hour ago, so the entire saga came to a happy conclusion. Everyone alive, home, and safe.

Back by popular demand

Last year around this time, I had talked about how delicious my sister's recipe for potato pancakes was. A quick check of my sitemeter statistics show that many of you have been searching for Bubalech Recipes and came across that article. Since I didn't actually publish the recipe, those searches were pretty much fruitless. Today, I will remedy that oversight by publishing the actual recipe.


My mom's recipe for bubalech - lovingly revised and transcribed by my sister

This will yield 5 small pancakes (each pancake made with two soup-size spoonfuls of dough):


You'll need

• 2 eggs (separated)
  
• 1/8 cup (=1oz. or 30ml) milk or water (I use skim milk)
  
• 25ml (=1 tablespoon + 2 teaspoons) matzo meal
  
• 1/8 cup (=1oz. or 30ml) cake meal
  
• 1/8 teaspoon (i.e. half of 1/4 teaspoon) sugar
  
• Oil for deep frying (my mother used peanut oil, but I use canola oil)
  
• Applesauce, powdered sugar or cinnamon for topping
  
• Electric blender, soup spoon, pancake flipper and large spoon
  
• Paper towels to absorb excess fat
  
• Oven-safe warming plate (optional - if pancakes will not be served immediately)
  

Instructions

1. Beat the egg whites on high speed until as light and fluffy as possible without becoming stiff. (**this is the secret of my mother's recipe)
   
2. Add egg yolks and beat on high just until blended.
   
3. Add liquid and beat just until blended.
   
4. Stir in dry ingredients BY HAND until blended. The dough should be thick enough to drop from a soup spoon. It will thicken a bit after stirring as the matzo meal absorbs the liquid, but you want it to be loose enough that it will result in a light pancake rather than a stone.
   
5. Pre-heat the oil on medium heat. The oil should be deep enough to fry the pancakes, as they will absorb less oil if they are fried in deep fat.
   
6. When you are transferring the mixture from spoon to fry pan, you need to just keep the bowl very close to the pan, take a generous spoonful and drop it into the oil (2 spoonfuls per pancake) working your way around the perimeter of your pan.
   
7. Fry them on medium heat (or adjust lower if needed) and only turn them once. It's easier to flip them if you use two implements (I use a flipper in my right and a large spoon in my left).
   
8. Transfer to a paper towel on a plate to absorb excess fat. They can be kept warm on 200F in the oven for a short while before serving if you are making multiple batches, but are best eaten fresh.
   

Topping suggestions

As a topping, I suggest spooning on some applesauce or sprinkling with sugar and/or cinnamon.


If you find this recipe of use, please leave a comment and I'll be sure to pass it on to my mom and sister.

Have a Happy Passover!