The Makings Part III: A Holiday to Remember

“PLEASE, OH MY GOD!! SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!!!” I cried and screamed at the top of my lungs. I was in the visitor’s section of Howard University Hospital’s parking lot and sat on the ground with my dad between my legs. As I was helping him out of my car he started falling to the ground so I placed myself under him and slid us down to the ground safely. I did not want to move until I knew he was stabilized. I was scared out of my mind and panicking. He had a mild seizure while falling but kept reassuring me that he was fine once he came to. I kept screaming and crying and finally my desperation was relieved by two EMT’s and a stretcher.

Since we made such a grand entrance into the hospital, we were excused from an extended wait time and were escorted immediately to a private room where all of the blood draws, x-rays and intrusive tests began. For the longest time I have suffered in silence as I watched my father’s health decline before my eyes because of unhealthy choices. (Even when my pleas for change went unanswered I still loved him and supported his choices. There are some things that a man has to do on his own and being responsible for his health is one of them. Maybe one day men will learn that pride is not the best healer.)

I sat there by his side in the ER watching all of the monitors, wishing I was unfamiliar with all of the medical jargon and dangerous test results the doctors and nurses were throwing around. As much as my mind wanted to wonder off into a state of disbelief or shock, I knew I did not have time for any of that. This was a State of Emergency.

It was the Sunday before Thanksgiving. Dad and I had just gone grocery shopping a few hours earlier for our main items. We had our dinner plans all mapped out and were looking forward to another year of cooking a fantastic ensemble and inviting family over to break bread and spend time with. Little did we know things would be different this year.

For the past month or so he had this feeling that “something is not quite right.” He would start passing out but not remember when he was falling, he had spells of blacking out, excessive fatigue and no desire to eat or drink. His doctor had just diagnosed him with diabetes a few weeks before and told me to just help him monitor his blood sugar and encourage him to eat and rest. However the insulin and encouragement fell short and almost as quickly as my dad’s state of well-being. After we finished putting the groceries away he told me he could not see anything and passed out two more times. I helped him get to couch and called the ambulance. The medics came and checked his vital signs and blood sugar (which where normal) and said the only thing they could do was take him to the closest ER.

After my dad raked up major medical bills from all of my grandmother’s ambulance rides I decided that more bills would be the last thing we need so I told them to help me get him to my car and that I would take him to the hospital myself since his vitals and sugar level were stable. I had no idea this visit would morph into an extended stay.

“Jamilla, something is wrong with you my dear. You are not the same smiling and excited young woman that walked into my class in August,” my professor said when she pulled me to the side that following Tuesday. What started off as a semester of full A’s & B’s nose-dived into a series of “thank God I just made it” grades. I was so ashamed and shocked, but I’m glad she cared. I felt ashamed because I was one of the few students in my class who had “no excuse” for not doing well. I had no husband, no kids and no major drama in my life. But being worried about my dad, dealing with his anger and frustration (when he should have been looking at what HE got himself into) running errands, corresponding to worrying family and friends, working, and being a stellar student was taking it’s toll on me. I told her that I was going through some family issues but that I would finish out the semester with a passing grade. Maybe being away from dad and the responsibility of looking after him would be the break I needed…

While it was the first time I had the apartment to myself for over a week in years. Initially the silence was deadly. No sports talk radio or Delfonics blasting from the living room, no one to talk to about my long day at work and school and no clue as to how long he would stay in the hospital or what procedure or diagnoses would pop up next. “Silence,” I said to myself. Maybe it’s not so bad after all. I took my extra time alone to catch up on my school work, write, sleep and to just pamper myself and mediate. I think it’s the only thing that kept me sane. I am the type of chick that likes to have jazz, Nag Champa, roses and candles burning all over the house but your sensual swag (even if its just for you) gets put on hold when you are living with your dad. I made sure I made the most of this time.

I know it seems crazy but I even decided to start cooking Thanksgiving dinner Monday evening so that when Thursday came I could still enjoy my other family members and not worry about all of our food going to waste. It was exhausting! Making pans cornbread for the stuffing, chopping celery and bell peppers, preparing the turkey, peeling potatoes for the potato salad, making dessert, baking yams and rolls, I even left 4 packs of smoked turkey wings boiling on the stove for 2 days at low light so the stock would be hearty and just right for the gravy and stuffing.

My mom, aunt and a several cousins came over Thursday. I even delivered plates to a few of my older relatives that could not make it. Everyone was raving about what a good job I had done. (I was hoping they were not humoring me because of all I had been through but maybe they were telling the truth because it tasted good to me and a day or two later that $250 we spent in food was gone.

All of the anger, fear, fatigue and aggravation I felt melted away as I seasoned, massaged, rolled, marinated, baked and boiled my energy into our dinner. I felt bad and wanted to sneak dad a plate but the nurse in me would not let me do it, even if I was conscious of how much salt I used and had long ago traded fatback flavorings with smoked turkey.

He remained in the hospital for a total of 11 days and was discharged with prescriptions and materials on living with type II diabetes, high blood pressure and managing kidney disease. These are all diseases which can be controlled and prevented by maintaining a healthy lifestyle and diet.

Looking back over the past year I still feel the sharp edges of my dad’s pride when it comes to his health and habits but, I am learning to let go and let God. After his discharge, he was adamant about changing his eating habits and exercising more but within a few months he converted back to his old ways. My pleas for change still go unanswered sometimes but I still have a small inkling of hope that maybe one day he will choose the better choice over easier choice and make that change. Sometimes he jokes that since dinner turned out so well without him that I should start cooking Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner by myself. Even though he may be joking in his own crude way I am hoping that this year he will be with me so we can cook together as a family – because that is what the holidays are all about.