Woken

"George, what's wrong?" Annie asked as she sat up in bed. Her
husband, George Kanapolis, was sitting straight up, soaked with sweat,
gasping for breath. He shook his head from left to right, trying to
signal that she shouldn't worry, but he couldn't get the words out. He
was as pale as the sheets on their bed.


Annie grabbed the phone immediately and started to dial.
George put his hand on her leg to get her attention and again shook his
head. He was tired of ambulances, doctors, needles and all the crap he
had gone through over the last year and a half. He didn't want to do it
tonight.


"I'm calling, damn it!" Annie said. She was in no mood for a
fight, and she was going to end it before it even got started. He was a
stubborn, proud man, and she knew he didn't like all of the fuss, but
she was damned if she was going to lose him tonight. Not if there was
anything she could do about it.


The party was scheduled for tomorrow at their son's house.
Everyone they knew in Florida, along with everyone from Baltimore who
could make the trip, was going to be there. It was their 50th wedding
anniversary and they had both looked forward to it for years.



"911, what is your emergency?" came the
greeting.


"I need an ambulance, my husband can't breath. Please
hurry." A tear was beginning to roll down her cheek.


"The paramedics are on the way, Ma'am. Has this happened
before?"


"Yes," she replied, "My husband has CHF. He's so pale and
sweaty, how long will they take?" George had been diagnosed with
Congestive Heart Failure almost two years ago. CHF is like drowning
without water. The left side of George's heart couldn't keep up with
the right side, so the blood would back up into his lungs. As the small
sacks began to fill with fluid, less and less oxygen made it into the
blood supply.


"You're very close to the station, Ma'am. They should be
there in a minute or two. Is your husband sitting up?" the paramedic on
the phone asked in a calm, reassuring voice.


"Yes, he's sitting up in the bed, oh my god, he's so sick;
it's never been this?"


"Please try to calm down, ma'am. What's your
name?"


"Annie, I'm sorry, tomorrow's our 50th anniversary. Where are
they?"


"Okay, Annie, they should be there any second, try to stay
calm. We're going to take good care of him. Is your door
unlocked?"


"No, I'll go unlock it."
"I'm showing that they're pulling up now. Just be calm and they'll take
good care of him, okay."



Annie sat the phone in the cradle and walked as fast as she could to
the front door. The paramedics were just coming up the sidewalk with
their cases.


"Please hurry, he's in the bedroom, its right back this way."
She turned and raced back to the bedroom.


As the medics entered the room, George was about as pale as
is humanly possible, except for a slight blue tinge around his lips. He
saw the man and woman walk in, and although he hadn't thought it was
possible, he felt even worse. Not only could he not breathe, but now he
was going to have to put up with them fussing with him, telling him
what to do, asking all their questions, and arguing with him when he
told them he wasn't going to the hospital. He knew they were trying to
help, just doing their jobs, but he had had enough.


Within seconds of entering the room, the woman had a blood
pressure cuff on his arm, and it was already too tight. Then she pumped
three more times. He gave her a cold stare, looking about as pissed off
as he could muster, when the man started in with the questions.



How old are you? Has this happened to you before? Are you
allergic to any medications? Are you taking any medications? On and on
he went, all the while, he was opening George's shirt and placing
electrodes all over his chest. George just shook his head, left and
right for some, up and down for others. Annie was there, ready with the
list of medications. She'd been through this before, too many
times.


Now the woman was placing a stethoscope on his back, telling
him to take a deep breath. He felt like telling her that if he could do
that, they wouldn't be here, but he couldn't get the words out. There
just wasn't enough air left in his lungs.


The medics began working as a team, both knowing what they
were dealing with without it being said. As one began plugging tubes
into the I.V. bag, the other was driving a needle into George's vein.
He hated needles, but right now, that was the least of his worries. He
hardly even noticed it.


As soon as the bag was connected, the man opened the small
brown box, plugged the two pieces together, inserted the needle into
the tube connected to the I.V., and pushed the Lasix into his system.



The woman was printing strips of paper out of the heart
monitor, moving a wire on his chest between each three inch
strip.


The questions were still coming. They never stopped. Annie
was answering most of them now, she knew more about him than he did.
But they still irritated the hell out of him.


Within about two minutes of the medication being
administered, George started to feel more air going in. It wasn't much,
but it was a start. Although he should have been relieved, George felt
like crying. He had to fight the tears. In 50 years, Annie had never
seen him cry. No one had, not since the day his best friend had died on
a field in France. He wasn't about to let that change
tonight.


George knew that one day, probably soon, maybe even tonight,
he was going to die from this. The worst part was the beginning; it
caught you off guard when you weren't prepared. Once you made it
through that, there was still a lot of fight, but none of it was as bad
as the beginning. George had been through the fight seven or eight
times since he was diagnosed, and every time the oxygen started to make
its way back into his lungs, he had silently thanked God.



But after the last time, he had prayed that this one would be
the last. He couldn't keep doing this, the surprise, going from being
fine to battling to breathe in minutes when he was lucky, instantly
when he wasn't, was just too much. He never told Annie, but he was
ready for the end. He knew that it would be hard on her, but he did his
time in this life, and if it was going to kill him anyway, he'd prefer
it do so sooner rather than later.


But now the medicine was bringing him back. He'd have to go
through it all over again. He had planned on stopping the help, not
letting Annie call, not letting them do anything to him, but this time,
it was even worse, and he couldn't get the words out, couldn't stop the
help. She assumed he was just being stubborn, she didn't understand.



The man had left the room for a minute, and returned with a
bright yellow stretcher. "What hospital does he go to?" the man asked
as he entered the room.


"Memorial is where he went last time, that's where our doctor
said he should go." Annie said, still answering the questions for
him.


"No, I don't need a hospital!" he shouted, sounding angrier
at her than he had intended.


"Sir, that medicine's not going to last, we need to get you
in to see the doctor, okay?" But it wasn't a question.


"No, I'm fine now, I don't?"


"George, you have to go to the hospital, go see the doctor,
let him check you out, and then we can come home." Annie interrupted.
"He's afraid they will keep him, tomorrow's our 50th anniversary, our
son's throwing us a big party, he doesn't want to miss it." She said,
turning to the medic.


George wished she knew, wished she understood, but he wasn't
going to try to explain with strangers in the house. She wouldn't be
able to hold up, knowing that he was ready to die. She was a strong
woman, but that would take a lot out of her, and she wouldn't want to
break down in front of these people.


"Nah, they'll probably just check you out and let you go."
The woman said. "You'll be home in a couple of hours." She didn't mean
to sound phony, or rehearsed, but when you've heard this argument from
thousands of patients over the years, and used the line that many
times, it's hard to sound genuine.


George tried to stand up, but he lost his balance and fell
back to the bed. He tried again, and was successful, but he knew that
they had noticed.


"I'm fine, let me get a drink of water, I'll sign your
papers, then I'm going back to bed" he said.


"No, you're going to the hospital, George, I'm calling
Tommy." Annie argued. She wasn't giving up tonight. Now the argument
would start all over again, the same lines, the same replies, just with
a different person. He knew wasn't going back to bed anytime soon.



When Annie handed him the phone, she walked out of the room.
He was making this harder on her, but the end was going to come, he was
only choosing the time.


He went through the lines, just as predicted, with their son.
Annie walked back in with a glass of ice water, but before she could
hand it to him, the female paramedic stopped her.


"He really shouldn't have anything until the doctors seen
him." She said.


"I'm not going to see the doctor!" George yelled at her,
pulling the phone away and reaching for the water.


"Dad, let me talk to mom." Tommy said. He handed the phone
back to his wife. When she hung up, she told the paramedics that her
son was on his way over, that he would be there in 10 minutes, and she
asked if they could wait.


They knew they couldn't leave him here, not in this
condition, but legally, they couldn't take him without his permission.
Had they arrived at the house two minutes later, he probably would have
been unconscious, and they would already be on the way to the hospital
by now. But if he was able to refuse, they couldn't take
him.


"Can I have a few minutes alone with my dad?" Tommy
asked.


"Can I get you something to drink?" Annie asked the
paramedics. She was always the gracious host, no matter what else was
happening. It was one of the things George loved about
her.


As she walked the medics out of the room, Tommy asked "What's
going on, dad?"


"I just can't do it anymore, I just can't."


"Do what? The hospitals?"


"It's not just that, Tommy. This gets worse every time. I
don't know if I can take it much worse than this time, and every time
they fix it, that's just one more time I'm going to have to go through
it before I die. I'm sorry son." A tear was starting to roll down his
cheek.


Tommy finally understood, and it hit him like a brick. His
father had never shown weakness. It wasn't his way. Now, his father was
telling him he wanted to die. He knew his father was sick, but it must
have been far worse than he could ever imagine.


"Does mom know?"


"No, I haven't told her. I was going to wait until it
happened, but I couldn't talk, she just thought I was being
stubborn."


"Ok, I'll talk to them."


There would be no more argument from Tommy. He got up and
opened the bedroom door. "I think he's okay to stay home, Mom. I'll
stay here with you tonight to make sure everything's
okay."


"Are you sure?" Annie trusted her son's judgment, but she was
still nervous.


"Yeah, it'll be alright."


George signed the papers for the paramedics, and before they
left, they told Tommy and Annie what to watch for.


"Don't hesitate to call us back if you need us." They said as
they walked out the door.


That night, George and Tommy broke the news to Annie. At
first, it was incredibly hard for her to understand, but she soon
realized how hard this was for him. She knew he would be out of pain
soon, and she couldn't ask him to fight any longer.


The three of them sat up talking all night about life, the
old days, all the great times they had had. They had one of the best
days of their lives that next day. When George passed away three months
later, his wife and three children had all been in the room with him.
Every one of his grandchildren had kissed and hugged him that day. He
couldn't have asked for a better way to go.