Plan ahead to be dead
HodgePodge by Charlie Hodge
Rumors of my imminent death precede me. Again.
Despite the desires of a few (I suppose), the good Lord has decided to grant me yet another reprieve. Thus, despite a six-week missing in action status I am thankful to say I’m back – or at least still here.
Similar to my last four or five returns from the dark side, the journey back was not a smooth one and provided a number of eye-opening experiences and lessons. Suffice to say it took a lot more than just me to remain on this side of the dirt.
Regular HodgePodge readers are likely familiar with my ongoing saga of battling C02 poisoning and dependency on a portable air system to allow me to breathe. Said portable oxygen tank on wheels is attached to me via an air tube and nose cannula. My tank, (known by many as ‘Frank’) often sports a snazzy tie when accompanying me on adventures. Suffice to say either the tank, air hose, or myself routinely find something to get hung up on, jerking me around or off balance. Such scenarios are usually accompanied with groans, moans or screams of frustration and/or pain as the plastic tubes are ripped out of my nostrils.
Watching me thrash about in minor panic looking for my now escaped air hose is likely amusing for spectators but it’s not all jovial for me. You’d think after all these years I would start to find some humour in the far too regular routine – but I haven’t.
Regardless, in early February while making a short jaunt with ‘Frank the tank’ to the washroom at 5 a.m. disaster hit.
I’d like to suggest it was while committing an act of heroism like saving a wounded animal, or rescuing a damsel, that my injury happened but alas such was not the case. I stepped on the oxygen line in front of me which instantly catapulted me forward and in lightning speed face first onto the floor, or onto my tank carrier. I am not sure which.
My blurry memory tells me I heard a crack at that instant, but I can’t be sure. I also managed to knock over another (unattached) oxygen tank which landed on my chest.
Thankfully, Teresa heard the commotion and came to my rescue. I am not sure how many times she has saved my life now, but it’s more than the fingers on one hand.
A few days later I was having a difficult time getting around, however I ignored Teresa’s offer to help me walk across the room and took another bad fall. She was there to help pick me up.
I was bleeding pretty good by the time the ambulance arrived.
Paramedics and ambulance attendants are amazing people, and we have some of the very best in the world in Kelowna. We also have some incredible respiratory doctors and nurses. However, suffice to say that not all doctors and nurses at Kelowna General Hospital (KGH) are top notch or really great listeners. I ran into one of them while I was struggling to get off my death bed.
At KGH (way overcrowded and way understaffed) I became part of the Emergency Room Shuffle. I first resided in a bed in the hallway, then triage, then a room in emergency. My future looked short. Very short. When CO2 levels reach too high one goes to sleep and as the levels climb the deeper the sleep until there is no return. The doctors in Emergency and later the hospital were concerned that I should not return home and one in particular wanted to either keep me in the hospital until I croaked or send me to palliative care.
I was adamant I was going home. I have been relentless in my plan and desire to die at home with my cat, wife and yard for six years now.
My brother Vic flew in from his holiday in Arizona to help the vigil. An Anglican minister is a good person to have holding your hand when facing the grim reaper. Vic to my pleasure (yet the chagrin of Teresa, my respiratory doctors, and almost everyone else within the health care system), helped convince (stubbornly demand) the tending doctors that I was not going to stay in the hospital nor was I going to a palliative care home.
I was at my obnoxious best.
Vic and I won the argument but at a price. Aside from the huge impact on Tez, the doctors let me go home on the understanding that while I might receive future emergency services if things go off track again, I would not be able to stay at the hospital but go to a palliative care facility for respite. Tez scrambled along with others to get a hospital bed set up at home and arrange home visitation through Interior Health. (Vic also paid the price of his insisting I go home by having to remove my old bed. To do, so Vic had to dig out a hammer, crowbar and saw).
It’s been six weeks, and I am feeling very good considering. I am ready to return to my various jobs on a regular but cautious routine and thankful for it. I have also learned a great deal.
Ironically, just prior to my last scenario Tez and I love each other so much we just planned our deaths. How twisted does that sound?
To clarify, I arranged and purchased a full funeral service through one of our local funeral homes. I am totally satisfied with what we have done and recommend you do the same. More on that in a future HodgePodge.
