The Journey

I don't know that much about blogging, and I am sure I am doing it wrong, but it really doesn't matter. I am finding this to be therapeutic and will learn mistakes, along the way, like I have always done throughout my journey in life.

I hear my Father's Voice, "Never give up" So, here I go.

I am taking you back to approx. 1965.

My daddy, a Gysgt. in the U.S.M.C (United States Marine Corps) was stationed in 29 Palms, California. I am the product of a "broken marriage"

While Dad was stationed in 29 Palms, I was living in Oceanside, Ca. with my mother. I was so looking forward to summer vacation! My father was coming to get me for visitation.

One day, while sitting in my class room, I was called to the office. My little brother was sitting there, and my Grandmother. Can't remember the thoughts that were flooding my little mind, but I figured we must have got caught at something, terrible, for Grandma to be sitting there. But then, I noticed she was crying. Hum....that's not usual.

We got outside and Grandma tells us, "your daddy has been in a terrible car accident and we don't know if he will live."

Well, that was the beginning of.... the journey.

Turned out, daddy was driving back on the marine corps base at night, his windshield was dusty from the sand storms.....an on coming driver had his high beams on.....dad could not tell what side of the road he was on, ("dead man's curve") being the considerate person he was, not wanting to hit the other car, he over compensated with his steering, and went off the shoulder of the road...flipped several times, had his seat belt on, and severed his spine.

Dad had become a "paraplegic" that is, he lost all function, sensation from the chest down and would never walk again. I'd say he was about, 36 years old.

It was all overwhelming to us children. In our little minds, we thought, he will walk again. But, it was to be a final sentence.

So, the next few years of my young life was spent, visiting daddy, every weekend, at the V.A. hospital.

This was during the, "viet nam war" and therefore, all of our precious sons, fathers, brothers, sisters, daughters and friends, were coming home, in similar conditions, or worse.

My brother's and I, would get on a greyhound bus, from Oceanside to Long Beach, every weekend, to visit daddy on Ward E-3, the "spinal chord injury ward."

Daddy being the gunny he was, making sure his men were taken care of, pulled out his wallet, and would send me around to the other veterans bedsides, and ask them if they wanted anything from the "canteen" (store, cafeteria).

Some of the men would respond, some of them would just stare, out the window, like they were a million miles away.......and they probably were. (read my poem dedicated to our troops on my other blog)

I saw how the veterans were treated. As a little girl, it made me furious. I remember one time, daddy was asking to be turned. He should not have had to ask for this, it was a requirement, for bed ridden patients, to be turned every 2-4 hours, at least, to help improve circulation and prevent, bed sores (breaking down of the skin, to varying degrees).

On one occasion, I remember a red headed nurse, Ms. Lewis, (I still remember her name!) came in and there was a confrontation, between Ms. Lewis and dad. I remember him grabbing his trapeze bar, (like it sounds but hangs down from the top of the bed so patient can pull themselves up) pulling himself up, and almost screaming, but in a pleading, begging and humiliating way, "We are men! Just because my body is crippled, does not make me less than a man! We are human beings, not animals or dogs! We are men!"

WoW. I still remember that like it was yesterday....

Perhaps it was just that particular ward, but in my mind, the nurses were mean, and had no compassion. It is still very fresh in my mind, although it was decades ago! If you have ever seen the movie, "Born on the 4th of July" with Tom Cruise portraying the disabled vet? I swear, there were moments in that movie, that I could definitely relate to.

I decided that when I grew up, one day, I would run the Veterans Hospitals, all over the world, and make sure the vets got treated with, respect, dignity, honor, but more importantly, like human beings, men / women!

I also decided that I would always, make sure, that daddy was never mistreated or humiliated, again or neglected, by the V.A. or anyone.

Years later, I went to college, graduated with a 3.72 GPA, became a nurse and followed daddy wherever he moved. We ended up in, Texas, "God's Country" as daddy affectionately, called it.

Unfortunately, years later, my daddy went to visit my little brother in California. I stayed behind, for various reasons, business and personal.

I had a surreal ( premonition ) moment when daddy was waving goodbye from the back of the van......slow motion......like, this is the last time, I will ever see him.

I was correct. Daddy got sick while visiting my brother. The V.A. kept sending him home, stating he "probably" had the flu. He got weaker and weaker....

The last time my brother took him to the V.A. they would not admit him. "we do not have enough bed space in the spinal chord ward."

At the objection of the V.A. nurses in the E.R., daddy was tied to his wheel chair with a bed sheet, (he was so weak he was sliding out of his chair) and sent home. I was told by my family, daddy kept repeating over and over......"Why won't they help me?
I am a veteran. I served my country, I fought for my country, my brother died for this country, why won't they help me?" (see my blog "My Father's Voice" a poem)

Visiting nurses would check on him weekly.....and called the V.A. with their recommendation, this man is very sick and needs to be admitted.......A few days later, daddy fell into a coma.....septic shock.

My brother had called the V.A. and they told him to call a "civilian ambulance" They took him to Tri City Hospital, Vista, California.

Dad's esophagus had perforated. 9 litres of purulent fluid had leaked into his abdomen, over a long period of time, and spread throughout his body causing major infection which was almost impossible to treat, at this point. The V.A. had missed it. The civilian hospital suspected this as soon as he was brought to the ER. They opened him up and found it.

I was called and told my daddy had a 50/50 chance to live. He was in a coma...and the prognosis, was "very poor."

I flew in, went in to see my, once, Tall, Strong, Handsome, Daddy, lying in bed with tubes all over the place and life support. He was swollen from his organs, shutting down. His body was dying. From the feet up, he was starting to turn black. My daddy would not want to bee seen this way. He is a man, a human being, The Proud, The Few, A Marine.

I suppose the thing that really made me angry about this whole traumatic incident, was that my brother's and I, had to make a decision, no child or parent should ever have to make!

His life, or rather, the ending of his life, was put in our hands.

After many consultations with neurologist, specialist, pastors and anyone else we could find that would tell us, the opposite of what we were hearing, we had to make the decision. There was no further brain activity. His bodily systems had shut down. He was on all life support. In a nut shell, he was no longer with us.

I know my Daddy. He would "never" want to go out this way. Just because he could no longer walk, his legs bent and paralyzed, he is still a man, The Few, The Proud, A Marine!

A few days later, we agreed to discontinue the life support. I can't even begin to tell you, the heart wrenching, horror of that decision.

His children, and some of the grandchildren, were there at that moment.

When I tell you that at the moment, his heart stopped, the whole room lit up so bright, I could barely keep my eyes opened, I tell you the truth.

To this day, I believe, that his boys, The Few, The Proud, The Marines, that went before him, including his kid brother, who was with the Baker Co. USMC, killed in Korea at 20 years old, escorted Daddy, to the loving arms, of The Father.

Daddy expired, July 21, 1989.

Not long after Daddy passed on, I had many dreams that he was with me. One dream that stands out in particular, Daddy was no longer in a wheel chair. I asked him "Daddy, what happened? How can you be here?" He stated "Aw, the V.A. made a mistake!" I was glad to see him, even if it was a dream, it was so real. He then stated to me, "Never give up" and he kept saying that over and over.

So, here I am, many years later, my children all grown up, empty nest syndrome, and looking for purpose to go on as "a nurse."

I never did work at any V.A. Hospital, perhaps, I just could not bring myself to it?

Life has not been the easiest experience for me, there is no doubt about it.

One thing that sustains me and helps get through the tough times, is hearing my Daddy's Voice.

I have found that helping others, on any level, is what matters. I may not have been able to fulfill my childhood dreams, but it's not about me anyway. It's about others, who need our help, time, love and support.