Jaci Dawn

Friday night, Don went to the hospital took me on a hot date. Well, I drove. And he was the one who got all the special treatment.

He wore his hiking boots. That’s an important fact because he was supposed to hiking on Saturday with a friend. On the plus side of things, Don had a lovely picture window view of a forested hill and in the distance, Mt. Hood. Except Don’s bed was angled the other way and all he could see was the northwest wing of the hospital Hotel.

Here’s how he surprised me with our unscheduled date: I arrived home after a stressful drive through the joint parking lots that are sometimes known as Veteran’s Memorial Highway and Hwy 217. I was tired. There was Kentucky Fried Chicken warming in the oven. And Don, looking grey and pallid, struggling to breathe.

I wanted to leave immediately; he wanted to eat first. He won. But as soon as dinner was over, I dialed the Advise Nurse concierge and inquired about reservations. She wanted to ask Don a few questions first, so I handed the phone to him. Within moments, our reservations were confirmed. We put the dogs out in their outdoor kennels, I grabbed my Kindle and my cell phone along with my keys and wallet, and we were off. They did offer to send an ambulance limo, but we assured them that we were only minutes away and I could drive us there.

Don worried that the waiting room would be full, but we learned that the best way to get immediate help seating is to tell the E.R. Receptionist Hostess that you’re having chest pain and trouble breathing. It’s amazing how quickly people jump to accommodate you!

The first part was the E.K.G spa treatment. A very efficient team of nurses had Don’s shirt removed and little tapes of paper and conducting material attached to his chest, arms, and legs. I got to sit in a chair in the corner, hugging his coat and watching. Everyone hustled, and the tall nurse masseuse named Paolo made us feel at ease.

As you have probably figured by now, we were nowhere near a fancy spa, hotel, or fine dining establishment. Don was on a guerney bad and I was clutching his coat, his shirts, his hat, and my Kindle. We were ushered into a larger room with plate glass walls and a lot of electric equipment hanging from the ceilings and walls. Don was hooked up to a blood pressure monitor that took his BP and measured his heart rate every twenty minutes. There was a phone on the wall (“dial nine to call out” we were told) but I asked about cell phone usage anyway. “Well, there’s no rule against it, but you won’t get any reception in here because of the concrete walls.”

Great. But wait – I brought my Kindle and hospitals have free wifi! So I logged into their wifi while the nurses and doctor bustled about the room doing nurse and doctor related stuff, and I messaged each one of our children privately. I also sent a message to a friend who could relay a prayer request to a large number of my cyber friends. I tried to pay attention to what the doctor was telling us and set the Kindle aside to listen.

Then we came to the hurry-up-and-wait part while they made certain our suite Don’s room was ready.

Twenty minutes into that wait, Chrystal sauntered into the room, please with herself for knowing what hospital we probably went to (how could I have forgotten to mention what hospital? Oh, I don’t know. Preoccupied and panicked maybe?). She had a little tag on her coat with the word “Vistior” “Comic Relief” neatly printed on it.

Chrystal doesn’t drive, so I asked the obvious, “Where’s Brian?”

Turns out, he’s not immediate family and they made his sit in the waiting room with all the sick people while we got the first class tour.

They situated Don in a second floor room and hooked him up to all kinds of machines. It was late, and I reluctantly said good-bye to him. Comic Relief and I made our way back through the labyrinth of halls and nurses stations and elevators back to the E.R. Waiting room. The kids stayed with me for about an hour after we got home, calmed the dogs down, and helped me make the first difficult phone calls: Levi first, because he’s in Colorado and it was nearly 11:00 his time. Arwen second, because she’s in Alaska and it was only 9:00 her time. Last was my mother-in-law (I left calling my father-in-law up to her. It was too late to call him, anyway, and she’s been down this road of having to make a zillion phone calls. It’s exhausting emotionally.) I gave them the briefest run-down:

Don had atrial fibrillation. He was getting the best care. We would call again on Saturday when we knew more.

The dogs and I slept fitfully. Murphy was the worst: he knew his master was missing and he knew Don was very ill before we left. He paced until I gave him Don’s coat to sniff over thoroughly. Once he had his nose full of Don’s scent, he relaxed some.

Saturday was spent sitting and waiting with Brian and Chrystal.

Don set off the alarms every time he stood up and made his way to the bathroom: his pulse pinged up to 130 bpm every time. There were pills and shots and information that was, at times, completely overwhelming, the gist of which was that Don would probably have to start a regimen of Coumadin to thin his blood. They were already injecting Lovenox into the fatty tissue around his belly button and he was told he would have to learn how to do that himself. I’m glad they told him that he would have to learn to do it, because I’m pretty certain I could not do it to him. I watched the nurse do it – once.

Love ya, Don, but I draw the line at needles.

Two days of Lovenox and four weeks of Coumadin, followed up with an electro shock to reboot his heart and hope it started beating normally. So were were told.

I was in the room when the ultrasound technician brought in the portable echo machine. Don’s heart was a mess: the top two chambers were dancing the samba and the bottom two chambers were moving like my dad on the dance floor: two left feet and always half a beat behind the music. The green line jumped and bounced and flat-lined with determined irregularity. When the tech turned the sound on, Don’s heart echoed a bluegrass band made up of men who played musical saws, but out of whack with each other.

I’ve heard many baby heartbeats on a sonogram, but the whoosh-put-whoosh-put of a baby heart at 130 bpm sounds nothing like the cacophony of musical saws in Don’s fluttering heart chambers.

We left him to spend one more night in his luxury suite private room. He was supposed to come home today, so I told the kids that unless I called, they were not to worry or drive over.

After another night of fitful sleep, I kenneled the dogs and headed to the hospital. I was inside the doors before I realized I’d forgotten Don’s coat and hat. I figured if they released him, I’d have to go home first – or make sure the car was really warm for the short five minute drive!

He was sitting up in bed, grinning.

“My heart reset itself last night!”

Yes, just like that: no electro schock, no Coumadin, and no more Lovenox. Don’s heart rate was down from 100-15o bpm to his normal 45-60 bpm. The four chambers were waltzing together in harmony, no more left feet. He could go home.

He’s on a new, stronger Blood Pressure medicine which I picked up at the pharmacy this afternoon. When I picked it up, our pharmacist asked, “Did they find Lovenox in town?” She was referring to the previous day when the hospital social worker had called around trying to find Lovenox for Don. Ouer pharmacy didn’t have it. I was surprised a little, that she’d put two and two together but I guess I shouldn’t have been. I was touched that she was concerned to ask. And blessed to be able to tell her that yes, they did find some, but that he no longer was going to need it.

Next time he takes me out on a hot date, I think I’ll request the Honeymoon Suite in some hotel in Greece. And we’re not having Kentucky Fried Chicken before we go.