Hey Guys
So it occurred to me that I haven't been anywhere near as active in the last few months as I once was. Some of you follow me on Instagram, and some of you even got me on Yee Ole' Facebook.
I've been really selfish these last couple of weeks. I've been so busy trying to take care of family shit and deal with everything that has happened that I almost forgot just how many people were cheering for my father and wishing us the best -- and so many of those people hung out right here on ChopCult.
For those of you who didn't know, my father passed away last week.
After receiving everyone's insane generosity, we booked him another flight out to California to pick up more meds. Around Christmas time, he got a cold that he just couldn't kick. About 3 weeks ago we rushed him into the hospital and they had him on some incredible drugs and shit that made him feel a LOT better. Unfortunately, they discharged him super early (only 24 hours!) because he refused a tracheotomy.
It had gotten really difficult for him to breathe, but he knew that he had to make it out to California one last time before he could go in for a trach (in case you were unaware, a tracheotomy renders you practically immobile for a few months -- which means he wouldn't have been able to get out there to get more oil, and would have had to go into chemotherapy, which we figured would kill him).
The antibiotics they had him on at the hospital worked wonders, and it seemed like he had taken ten steps forward in the day he spent in the hospital. We had originally scheduled the trip for that wednesday, but he was rushed to the hospital on Tuesday night. I was down in Philly in some girl's bed (side note: girls in Philly have been really good to me -- i suggest you all check this place out, if you can!) when I got the call from my mom at 3 in the morning, and I left immediately to go be with him.
So we canceled and rescheduled his flight, which cost my family about a $1,000 that we didn't really have to begin with, and set it up for the following wednesday. After a few days, my dad's health started to slip again, and the following Sunday after leaving the hospital (three days before he was supposed to leave again), he asked my mom if she would take him to the hospital.
My mom feels terrible about it (but she shouldn't), but she convinced him not to go to the hospital. She explained that not only could we simply not afford to cancel, reschedule, and lose ANOTHER grand on the trip, but that no matter what hospital she brought him to, they'd get his file, see that he was recommended a tracheotomy, and refuse to treat him until he did. And if he HAD consented to the tracheotomy, he wouldn't have been able to get out to California, he wouldn't have been able to get his oil, and he would have died, miserable and in pain, in chemo. His two greatest fears when he was diagnosed was going out because of chemo, and being hacked up like fucking Frankenstein to fit a trach set up.
Instead, she scheduled him a doctor's appointment for that tuesday afternoon (he was scheduled to fly out with my sister on wednesday). On MONDAY, I drove back up to see them and make sure he was set for his trip, and when I got there, he was laying on the couch. I asked him how he was feeling, he said he was ok, but a little under the weather. I asked him, straight up, if he needed to go to the hospital (I'm the kind of man where I'm not going to sit there and fuckin' baby you -- if you gotta go take care of business, we go and we take care of business and sort out all the bull shit later), and he looked at me, dead in my face, and said he was ok. He said that my mom had scheduled him a doctor's appointment, and that he wasn't feeling too sick. I believed him. I watched him eat dinner, and he even had seconds (he had lost a lot of his appetite while he was sick with the cold, so I knew an appetite was a realistic indication of how he was ACTUALLY feeling).
So I give him a hug and a kiss on his forehead, and wished him good luck for the flight. I truly believe that he didn't go out there knowing he was clocking out. To this day, I know that if he thought there'd be REAL trouble, he knew could count on me to take care of it. When he was in the hospital the first time, he couldn't sleep for anyone. Part of the reason why he was there was because he was just so physically exhausted -- he was too scared to go to sleep. I showed up to his hospital bed, sent my mom and my sister home, and told him that it was ok for him to sleep, and that I had his back. It was the only rest he was able to get, and it meant the world to me to know my Pop trusted me like that. I was his guard, and he knew he could count on me.
SO anyway, wednesday rolls around, and he and my sister fly out. As soon as he gets off the plane, he looks at my sister and says he needs to go to the hospital. She calmed him down and explained that he'd just been on a long flight, didn't get any rest the night before, hadn't really eaten, hadn't taken his medicine, and just needed to chill. She said that she wanted to get him to the hotel room, get some food in his stomach, give him his medicine, and if he didn't feel better, she'd take him to the hospital.
And she did just that. His only request was that if he went down, she She got him to the hotel room, got him on his nebulizer and shit, put some towels in the freezer to cool him down a bit, got him everything from soup to vitamins and Vic's vapor rub to clear his sinuses -- she did everything she thought she could. After she got him situated, she went out to get them some real food, and when she got back, he was in the bathtub and eating some chicken soup.
She asked how she was doing, he said he didn't feel good and was dizzy. She helped him out of the tub, toweled him off, laid him down in the bed, and from what I understand, that was pretty much all she wrote. He started going into cardiac arrest. She was lucky to find a nurse two doors down, and she performed CPR while my sister called an ambulance. By the time they got his heart going again, he had been dead for a half hour.
I got the news at about 1 in the morning. I drove home without packing a bag of clothes and got back to my Mom's house in jersey at about three. She was in complete hysterics. It was tough trying to figure out what we needed to do, and she wasn't really helping. I didn't know anything about how bad it was, just that he was in a coma in the hospital and that he was fighting.
Mom was blaming herself from the get-go. I've never seen anything like it, guys. I know the grieving process and everything like that, but she was in hysterics. Crying, screaming -- she looked wild. I'd never seen her like that. Ever. And I can say with relative certainty that, even at 25, I've seen some wild shit. I've seen the fear that crawls through a dude who just talked the wrong kind of shit to the wrong dude. I've seen a man get stabbed in the neck. I've seen some pretty wild eyes in some pretty hopeless faces -- but I'd never seen someone look like that. And it was my MOM, man. I spent 4 hours convincing her that it wasn't her fault, and that she made the right calls… But there was no stopping it.
So finally, at about 7 in the morning, I just did what I knew my old man needed me to, and I drained my bank account getting her and I a flight out to San Francisco, where he was laid up.
We arrived at about 8:30 Cali time. I had been receiving text updates from my sister on the plane. She had been super positive, explaining that dad was partly breathing on his own, and that his pupils were still reactive. We knew he was home, but knew there was trouble -- just not how much. She was telling us that she had been talking to him all day, and that when she'd play songs on her phone that he liked, tears would fall from his eyes. He couldn't move or communicate to us with anything other than that -- but it was something. It was enough for me to know that he hadn't clocked out and that he was still swingin', you know?
So it occurred to me that I haven't been anywhere near as active in the last few months as I once was. Some of you follow me on Instagram, and some of you even got me on Yee Ole' Facebook.
I've been really selfish these last couple of weeks. I've been so busy trying to take care of family shit and deal with everything that has happened that I almost forgot just how many people were cheering for my father and wishing us the best -- and so many of those people hung out right here on ChopCult.
For those of you who didn't know, my father passed away last week.
After receiving everyone's insane generosity, we booked him another flight out to California to pick up more meds. Around Christmas time, he got a cold that he just couldn't kick. About 3 weeks ago we rushed him into the hospital and they had him on some incredible drugs and shit that made him feel a LOT better. Unfortunately, they discharged him super early (only 24 hours!) because he refused a tracheotomy.
It had gotten really difficult for him to breathe, but he knew that he had to make it out to California one last time before he could go in for a trach (in case you were unaware, a tracheotomy renders you practically immobile for a few months -- which means he wouldn't have been able to get out there to get more oil, and would have had to go into chemotherapy, which we figured would kill him).
The antibiotics they had him on at the hospital worked wonders, and it seemed like he had taken ten steps forward in the day he spent in the hospital. We had originally scheduled the trip for that wednesday, but he was rushed to the hospital on Tuesday night. I was down in Philly in some girl's bed (side note: girls in Philly have been really good to me -- i suggest you all check this place out, if you can!) when I got the call from my mom at 3 in the morning, and I left immediately to go be with him.
So we canceled and rescheduled his flight, which cost my family about a $1,000 that we didn't really have to begin with, and set it up for the following wednesday. After a few days, my dad's health started to slip again, and the following Sunday after leaving the hospital (three days before he was supposed to leave again), he asked my mom if she would take him to the hospital.
My mom feels terrible about it (but she shouldn't), but she convinced him not to go to the hospital. She explained that not only could we simply not afford to cancel, reschedule, and lose ANOTHER grand on the trip, but that no matter what hospital she brought him to, they'd get his file, see that he was recommended a tracheotomy, and refuse to treat him until he did. And if he HAD consented to the tracheotomy, he wouldn't have been able to get out to California, he wouldn't have been able to get his oil, and he would have died, miserable and in pain, in chemo. His two greatest fears when he was diagnosed was going out because of chemo, and being hacked up like fucking Frankenstein to fit a trach set up.
Instead, she scheduled him a doctor's appointment for that tuesday afternoon (he was scheduled to fly out with my sister on wednesday). On MONDAY, I drove back up to see them and make sure he was set for his trip, and when I got there, he was laying on the couch. I asked him how he was feeling, he said he was ok, but a little under the weather. I asked him, straight up, if he needed to go to the hospital (I'm the kind of man where I'm not going to sit there and fuckin' baby you -- if you gotta go take care of business, we go and we take care of business and sort out all the bull shit later), and he looked at me, dead in my face, and said he was ok. He said that my mom had scheduled him a doctor's appointment, and that he wasn't feeling too sick. I believed him. I watched him eat dinner, and he even had seconds (he had lost a lot of his appetite while he was sick with the cold, so I knew an appetite was a realistic indication of how he was ACTUALLY feeling).
So I give him a hug and a kiss on his forehead, and wished him good luck for the flight. I truly believe that he didn't go out there knowing he was clocking out. To this day, I know that if he thought there'd be REAL trouble, he knew could count on me to take care of it. When he was in the hospital the first time, he couldn't sleep for anyone. Part of the reason why he was there was because he was just so physically exhausted -- he was too scared to go to sleep. I showed up to his hospital bed, sent my mom and my sister home, and told him that it was ok for him to sleep, and that I had his back. It was the only rest he was able to get, and it meant the world to me to know my Pop trusted me like that. I was his guard, and he knew he could count on me.
SO anyway, wednesday rolls around, and he and my sister fly out. As soon as he gets off the plane, he looks at my sister and says he needs to go to the hospital. She calmed him down and explained that he'd just been on a long flight, didn't get any rest the night before, hadn't really eaten, hadn't taken his medicine, and just needed to chill. She said that she wanted to get him to the hotel room, get some food in his stomach, give him his medicine, and if he didn't feel better, she'd take him to the hospital.
And she did just that. His only request was that if he went down, she She got him to the hotel room, got him on his nebulizer and shit, put some towels in the freezer to cool him down a bit, got him everything from soup to vitamins and Vic's vapor rub to clear his sinuses -- she did everything she thought she could. After she got him situated, she went out to get them some real food, and when she got back, he was in the bathtub and eating some chicken soup.
She asked how she was doing, he said he didn't feel good and was dizzy. She helped him out of the tub, toweled him off, laid him down in the bed, and from what I understand, that was pretty much all she wrote. He started going into cardiac arrest. She was lucky to find a nurse two doors down, and she performed CPR while my sister called an ambulance. By the time they got his heart going again, he had been dead for a half hour.
I got the news at about 1 in the morning. I drove home without packing a bag of clothes and got back to my Mom's house in jersey at about three. She was in complete hysterics. It was tough trying to figure out what we needed to do, and she wasn't really helping. I didn't know anything about how bad it was, just that he was in a coma in the hospital and that he was fighting.
Mom was blaming herself from the get-go. I've never seen anything like it, guys. I know the grieving process and everything like that, but she was in hysterics. Crying, screaming -- she looked wild. I'd never seen her like that. Ever. And I can say with relative certainty that, even at 25, I've seen some wild shit. I've seen the fear that crawls through a dude who just talked the wrong kind of shit to the wrong dude. I've seen a man get stabbed in the neck. I've seen some pretty wild eyes in some pretty hopeless faces -- but I'd never seen someone look like that. And it was my MOM, man. I spent 4 hours convincing her that it wasn't her fault, and that she made the right calls… But there was no stopping it.
So finally, at about 7 in the morning, I just did what I knew my old man needed me to, and I drained my bank account getting her and I a flight out to San Francisco, where he was laid up.
We arrived at about 8:30 Cali time. I had been receiving text updates from my sister on the plane. She had been super positive, explaining that dad was partly breathing on his own, and that his pupils were still reactive. We knew he was home, but knew there was trouble -- just not how much. She was telling us that she had been talking to him all day, and that when she'd play songs on her phone that he liked, tears would fall from his eyes. He couldn't move or communicate to us with anything other than that -- but it was something. It was enough for me to know that he hadn't clocked out and that he was still swingin', you know?
Comment