The Deciders

There is nothing uplifting or cathartic about this post.  Nothing.

Friday evening, Carolina, an LPN at the Courtyard called me because to report my mom had some swelling in her left leg.  I called my sister, Tracy, and she drove over to NHC Place.  I drove down a little while later, in part because I was concerned when I learned an ultrasound had been ordered but it was uncertain when it would actually be performed, since it was a weekend.

Mom was comfortable and in bed when I arrived.  She smiled as she talked quietly to us.  Tracy and I stepped outside to talk amongst ourselves, then I asked to speak to Carolina, because I had obvious concerns about not knowing when an ultrasound would be performed and who, at NHC Place, was making the call to treat her there rather than have her transported to a hospital.

In situations like these, with my mom, Tracy is usually the State Department and I am the War Department.  That's just the way it works.  As we talked to Carolina in the hallway outside my mom's room, I became more and more uncomfortable that anyone there understood the potential gravity of the situation, given that my mom could have a blood clot in her left leg.

After I asked some pointed questions to determine who had made the call on medication and the short-term treatment plan, I got some assurances that Carolina and her successor later that night would check on her more regularly than normal.  Tracy decided to sleep there overnight, my mom's room.  As always, Tracy is doing the heavy lifting with my mom.  I worry about the burden she's shouldering.

I drove back down yesterday morning and stayed with my mom for a bit.  Tracy went home to shower, then I left a few minutes before the ultrasound was to be performed.  I had to get back to our house and get the boys ready, with Jude, to go to the Predators' NHL playoff game vs. the Colorado Avalanche at 2 p.m.

During the first period of the game, Tracy texted me and confirmed what we feared.  My mom had a blood clot in her left leg.  I left our seats at the the game and found a quiet place in Bridgestone Arena (not an easy task during an NHL playoff game).

I spent the next hour or so on the telephone with various people at NHC Place demanding to talk to the on-call nurse practitioner who was in charge.  For some reason, she initially refused to speak directly to Tracy and instead relayed information to the nursing coordinator.  I wasn't going to rest until I spoke to her directly, which eventually happened.

Thankfully, one of our closest friends - who happens to be the OB GYN/surgeon who delivered both of our boys - was at the Predators' game.  She graciously walked down between the second and third period of the game, right as I finally received a telephone call from nurse practitioner.  I handed my cellular telephone to Roseann and she quietly, but firmly, insisted on getting a full update on my mom, the protocol at NHC Place for situations like this and the standard of care.

Roseann's most pertinent and pointed question summarized what I had wanted to know.  "How would a blood clot like this be treated if it was discovered on a Tuesday?"  In other words, she wanted assurances the standard of care was the same on a Saturday as on a weekday, when a nurse practitioner would be on site.  I was so grateful to have Roseann there.  She's simply one of the best people I know.

In the end, Tracy and I were the deciders.  We had to decide whether to leave my mom where she was - resting comfortably in the Courtyard at NHC Place - or to have her transported to the hospital in an ambulance.  We tried to balance the difficulties and trauma associated with moving her and how tough it would be for her to possible get stuck on a stretcher in the emergency room against the fact that she won't see a doctor until Monday morning.  Not an easy decision.

In the end, we decided to ride it out at NHC Place.  Tracy stayed with her again last night and I'm headed down to see her now.

The hits just keep on coming.

God Bless the Humboldt Broncos

This morning as on all Sunday mornings, Jude and I awoke at 6:30 a.m. to the sounds of Joe restlessly and noisily going through his wakeup routine.  He wakes up like an old man - stretching, grunting and groaning - as he prepares to begin another day in the life of a 6 year old.

Within minutes, he walks into J.P.'s room to see if he is up.  Then, we hear them talking quietly.  Last but not least, he calls to Jude through the baby monitor we've kept in his room so we know what's going on upstairs with the boys, "Mom?  Can I get up?"  Of course, he's already up.  She replies, "sure, come on down."

We hear the pitter patter of feet upstairs - Joe's - J.P.'s morning routine is much quieter - and the boys suddenly appear in the doorway of our bedroom, as if by magic.

When I think about, it is like magic, in a way, that in the midst of our busy lives and of all that I have going on with my mom, God has blessed me at 51 years old with two healthy, happy and active boys. Magic, for sure.

What I'm thinking about this morning, as I finish my latte at the Frothy Monkey before the Sunday morning rush, is that there are 15 sets of parents in Humboldt, Saskatchewan, who will never get to hear their boys wake up again in the morning.  This, after a tragic bus crash killed 15 boys on the Humboldt Broncos, a junior hockey team with a long and storied tradition in the small town of Humboldt.

I can't begin to fathom how those parents feel this morning.  It's simply beyond my comprehension and, hopefully, it always will be.  To say my thoughts and prayers are with those families and that community is very obviously an understatement.  I think every parent has those families in their thoughts and prayers this morning.

It's so easy to forget how lucky I am to have my boys.  This is especially true on a weekend like this one, when we have three baseball games, two soccer games and a Davis Cup tennis match to attend.  And that's only Saturday.  Then, one baseball practice and two soccer practices to get to after church on Sunday.

In between the occasional bickering between them and the trips all over town for practices, games and sleepovers, there is love.  Just simple, pure and unadulterated love.  And Jude and I are so lucky and thankful and blessed to have that love in or lives.

God, be with those families in Humboldt who lost their boys.