Dad

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PROLOGUE:

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THURSDAY NOVEMBER 30TH

We have an SGA meeting afterschool. It ends up being no big deal; Just a few minutes in length. I walk out to the cafeteria entrance, where mom was planning on picking me up. Instead, I see Dave. I think nothing of it; He says that my mom called and told him to give me a ride home. The whole way home, we talk about Algebra 2. As we pull up, I notice both dad's van and mom's minivan. I think it's strange, but only comment about it in passing as I thank Dave for the ride.

I come inside; Mom is the on the phone (with the insurance company, it turns out). After checking the bedrooms and downstairs for dad, I walk back over to mom. A moment later, she is off the phone. "Where's dad?"

In the hospital, it turns out. Mom recounts the story, as she does many more times the next few days. Dad woke up at 3:30am with chest pains. When I woke up, he was sitting on the couch, sipping on coffee and watching TV. My mom gave him Maalox, and I went to school as usual. By 8:30am, the pain hadn't subsided. My mom repeatedly suggested that he go to the hospital; And after Kevin got on the bus at 8:45am, she was more adamant -- and rightfully so.

By 9:30am, she was convinced: this is a problem. She drove dad to Shady Grove hospital, and conveniently parked illegally outside the Emergency Entrance. "Oh, and by the way," dad said as they pulled into the hospital parking lot: "My jaw hurts." The signs of a heart attack were obvious now. As he was laid on a stretcher, his body caved in; It soon became evident that if another hour had passed, he may not have survived the drive to the hospital.

He came close to death; Exactly how so was not immediately evident. As he was wheeled into the emergency room, he reminded my mom of who to call and, of course, to tell Derrick to make his football picks for him. And then came the quote which I'll never forget, as he said it to my mom. "If something happens to me," he said, "I want to see the boys."

By 3pm, when my mom broke the news, he was stabalized and resting in ICU. I talked to my mom for over an hour about the medical facts and the reprecussions of the heart attack. Everything seemed to be alright once again -- we seemed sure that the worst was over. We planned to go to the hospital and visit him later in the day.

But then my mom recieved a phone call from the hospital. She abruptly called a couple of friends, notably going outside for a moment to inform one of them about what is happening. At the time, we had no idea what was going on.

The truth was, a helicopter was on standby to rush dad to Washington Adventist in Silver Spring. Even after giving dad clot-busting drugs, to open up the closed arteries in his body, one of the arteries was still blocked. As we talked to our aunt Sharon and ate pizza, my mom rushed to Shady Grove to see him before he flew off.

She parks illegally (again) and speaks to a police officer who assures her that he can get her to see dad before he is put into the helicopter. The officer assures her that he knows the right way to get there. Just as they arrive, dad is on the way to the helicopter. Moments later, they part ways, as he boards the chopper for the brief ride. It takes him but 5 minutes to arrive; In traffic, it takes mom 35 minutes.

Tense moments follow. The day before, in the current issue of Newsweek, I read in detail about then-Vice Presidental-candidate Dick Cheney's latest heart attack. It included an illustration of a heart, and the various procedures available to fix problems -- Including a catheterization. The article was laying, face-up, on the coffee table on Thursday morning -- the coffee table, located next to the couch where dad sat as the heart attack occured.

So, as I reviewed the magazine article, the doctors at Washington Adventist placed a stent into the blocked artery, opening up the passage so that blood flow resumed as normal. It was a long day; Mom finally returned home, and showed us shocking pictures taken of the artery, before and after.

The next morning, I awoke to mom's words: To wake up, for dad was on the phone. I was very happy that I spoke to him on the phone before going to school on Friday morning. We went and saw him in the hospital; He was awake and alert.

I laid in bed that night, around 11:00pm. I realized the magnitude of the heart attack, and how profoundly it would impact us in the months to come. But what is so stunning, now, is how relatively insignificant the heart attack was in our lives, compared to the big picture. Then again, the heart attack seemed to be a cause of the later problems.

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SATURDAY JANUARY 27TH

The time is 12:48pm. The phone rings; I, with my headphones on and music blaring, don't hear it. In fact, I don't even realize that Betsy had called for 8 hours. But when the phone rings at 12:57pm, I answer it.

The caller ID lists Shady Grove Adventist hospital. It wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last, that the hospital had called; But for some reason, the words on the screen worried me. A second later, I turned on the phone.

"Hello?"

It's mom. Dad collapsed at the basketball game; He was in surgery. The doctors wouldn't let mom go back, as they did the first time. For the next 10 minutes, I ask her various questions, most of which no one could answer. At 1:10, I have exhausted my questions, and I let her return to the waiting room. She promises to call me with any updates.

At first, it seems that he has had another heart attack. That's what I told my friends as I spoke to them online and waited for another phone call. The "D" word crossed my mind, even in the first few minutes; After all, the doctors said the chance of surviving a second heart attack were slim.

The phone rang again just before 2:00pm. It was mom again. There wasn't a whole lot new to report, but the information was startling. Dad was in a coma. What I didn't realize at the time, but that she also told me, was that dad was hooked up to a ventilator that was breathing for him. Coma was the word I focused on; It was the word I knew of. I didn't realize that in those first days, the fact that a ventilator was breathing for him was as big a deal as the coma.

I asked mom to call every hour, for an update. She phoned in again at 3:15; However, there was nothing new to inform me of. And again at 4:00pm, nothing notable. Was this a good or a bad sign? I didn't know, but I certainly speculated. I sat online and talked to my friends. Every time the phone rang, I was spooked -- I expected to hear the worst.

That call never came -- but neither did the call I most wanted: Some glimmer of hope. My mom sat in the waiting room with Kim, waiting. In the late afternoon, dad was transferred upstairs to the Adult Critical Care Unit, or CCU. She met with the doctors, who had little in the way of good news to share. Meanwhile, Kevin stayed at Michael's house, and Jason was unaware of the situation as he had fun at Seven Springs.

Walt called at 7 o clock, and we spoke for a few minutes. He spoke a prayer over the phone, which was poignant and reflective. I don't remember what exactly made it so profound -- It just was. Mom called shortly thereafter and told me she would come home soon. There was no reason to continue his vigil; It was now a time to wait, and hope, and pray.

She arrived home at 8:30, exhausted and desperately in need of nutrients. She shared the truth, as she knew at: The prognosis was grim. It was an hour-by-hour wait. Kevin came home around 9 o clock, at which time she explained what had happened. She was honest as she could be with both of us. She then relived the story of that day to many others on the phone.

In the days to come, the horrible extent of what happened became more clear. The doctors ruled out heart attack and a stroke; Dad went into cardiac arrest, not once, but three times that day. No more than two minutes were left in the game, being held in the gymnasium of Redland Middle School.

The game was tied. Dad fell to his knees, apparently in shock that his team was about to win. But the game had no impact on what happened next. Dad's assistant, Chris, looked down at dad: "Mr. Stelter, do you want me to call a time-out?" Dad stared back, but could not speak. He fell to the ground, lying there for a moment -- again, it seemed that he was simply being dramatic.

Seconds later, the players who were not on the court looked over at dad as he layed there. "Is something wrong with that coach?," one of the game atendees who was seated near mom said. Mom instantly ran over to dad. The game was halted and other parents rushed over. The parents shielded the kids from the sight of their coach lying, unconcious, on the floor.

The tones of cell phones were audible as multiple atendees called 911. "Does anyone here know CPR?" Mom did; But she was terrified. How could she correctly perform CPR on her husband? A man stepped forward and offered to do the chest maneuvers if she could breathe. After a few minutes, she couldn't continue. Dad was changing colors which she "had never seen before on a person." She had to get up and walk away.

After 5 to 7 minutes, EMT personnel arrived in the gymnasium. For the next 20 minutes, the paramedics attempted CPR, used the defibrillator, and installed several central lines all over dad's body in attempts to revive him.

As he was rushed into the ambulance, EMT's continued to perform CPR. A flurry of activity dominated those 25 minutes; At some point, the kids were finally brought out of the gym and mom spoke to Kevin. She told him that she was going to take dad to the hospital again, like last time, and that he would go over to Michael's and play with Michael and Tim. Kim drove mom to the hospital; Mom's minivan was driven to Kim's by Patrick's mom; Dad's truck stayed in the parking lot.

The hospital ride was only a matter of minutes. He arrived at Shady Grove hospital and hospital workers immediately continued attempts to revive and stabalize him. It was an ongoing struggle. The fact that he survived that first hour, and then the hours beyond that, was incredible.

I suppose you could call him lucky, for he survived those initial minutes, hours, and days. But the extent and the serious nature of what had happened was impossible to ignore. For dad to wake up from the coma and remember most everything he had previously known would have been a miracle. His heart could have given in at any time. His last breath, albeit machine-assisted, could have occured without any warning.

One comment in particular from my mom stood out that night. I will remember it for the rest of my life. As I searched for answers and reasoning for what had happened, my mom made a profound suggestion. "Maybe Jessica needs her daddy."

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SUNDAY, JANUARY 28TH

Kevin went back over to Michael's for much of the day. Jason was to return from skiing at 7:30pm. Mom got no sleep the night before, so she tried to take a nap. At about 3 o clock in the afternoon, she made the first of many drives to Shady Grove Hospital. I went along with her.

At first, she was hesitant about letting me see dad. There was constant worry over the possibility of something happening in the next 24 hours, before Jason or Kevin could see him.

I, too, was afraid to see him -- but at the same time, I wanted to. She left it up to me to decide. I could sit in the waiting room outside the CCU, or I could go in with her. I decided to go in.

He was in one of the first rooms in the long hallway. As I stood in the doorframe of his room, filled with a variety of medical equipment, I paused as I saw dad for the first time. Mom could tell that I was afraid. "He looks.." I whispered, not wanting to say the obvious last word. It was grim, and it was apparent. He did not look alive.

We stayed there for a while. I met one of dad's nurses, and asked her questions. I surveyed the small, rectangular room, peering at the various devices on the walls. I left, feeling a bit better, because I had a better understanding of where he was and what he looked like.

Jason arrived home later that evening. Mom let him talk all about his ski trip before she broke the news to him. Meanwhile, dad showed no signs of coming out of the coma. He was on a variety of drugs, which had helped calm the seizures that had been occuring in the first 24 hours.

It seemed like the odds were so against him.

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MONDAY, JANUARY 29TH:

The first day of the new semester at school, and the day that my teachers were made aware of the situation. The day went alright, overall. In 7th period, though, a guidance aide came into Journalism and gave Mrs. Krebs a blue slip. She called me into the hall. I was scared to death -- I expected to be told something horrible.

When she handed me it, I was slightly relieved. It was a note for me to go to see Mrs. Turner, my counselor. I walked to her office, where we spoke for about 10 minutes about what was going on. She explained that I could come and see her anytime.

The school, and especially Mrs. Turner, helped me so much in the next weeks. As Mrs. Krebs told me months later, I had a band of guardian angels at DHS. Not only my friends, but teachers, too. And school was essential in keeping a daily routine in an otherwise worrisome life.

Monday evening, me, Jason, Kevin, and mom went to the hospital. Mom brought us back, one by one. There had been no significant changes.

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TUESDAY, JANUARY 30TH:

My second day of the second semester, and mom's second day of a vigil beside dad's bed for part of the day while we attended school. She handled the entire ordeal, from the first day to the last, with incredible strength. Undoubtedly, she had moments where she had trouble handling the overwhelming facets of what was happening -- but she didn't show it when we were with her.

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WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 31ST:

My alarm clock didn't go off on time -- and neither did anyone else's. It was probably for the best -- two extra hours of sleep never hurt anyone. My mom drove me to school at 8:30.

The doctors scheduled a "family meeting" on Wednesday afternoon. I wanted to attend, but mom wouldn't let me, and I'm sure that was for the best, in the long run. Doctors ran an EEG test to scan for brain activity. As I waited for mom to get home, I accepted that fact that the news would not be good.

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THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 1ST:

...And the news wasn't good. The results came back on Thursday, instead of Wednesday. The doctors told my mom that they did not expect dad to come out of the coma. In fact, they said that he probably had less than three months to live, in the coma, before his body gives up.

It was called a persistent vegetative state. Barring a miracle, he would not wake up. I was prepared for bad news, but it still wasn't good to hear.

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FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 2ND:

"I hope you believe in miracles," one person told me on Friday. And I tried -- but try as I did, I was realistic. I knew that even if he did come out of the coma, his heart would still be in a really poor condition, and his brain would still be damaged.

But miracles do happen. Throughout the ordeal, I came to wonder how anyone could live through a situation like this and not believe in God. What would you believe -- that after death, that was the end? The idea of life after death was important to keep in mind. Dad was going to go to a better place.

That night, I went to a concert at school. It was called "Remember When," with students performing old and new songs. I went with Kyle and Andrew. I had fun -- which was good, seeing as how most things in life weren't fun right then.

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SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 3RD:

Kevin had a choice: It was up to him if he wanted to go to his basketball game Saturday morning. Same gym, same teammates, but with one key difference -- Chris coaching the team, instead of dad. Mom had only one request, which was taken care of by another mom on the team: To make sure that Kevin and his team stood on the opposite side of the gym from where they were a week earlier.

Kevin wanted to play. Jason and I both attended the game, as well, and cheered louder than anyone else. Chris huddled the team before the game began. He said a prayer. The game then got underway. In the end, Kevin's team won. It was a bittersweet victory, one that concluded in many hugs.

Kim Rhodes made a card which the team signed and gave to Kevin at the end of the game. It was a poem, concieved by Kim. We went to the hospital after the game, and told dad of the team's victory. Mom knew that she would cry if she read the entire poem aloud by herself, so we each took turns reading, passing it from person to person.

Later in the day, we had a gathering of people at our house. Two aunts, two cousins, two of Kevin's friends, and one of mom's friends came over. It may have seemed a bit upbeat, but the truth was that dad's condition was not improving. Jason and Kevin started to realize that he was not going to survive.

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EPILOGUE:

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That first night of dad's coma, I sat and talked to my mom. At the time, it was such a shocking and confusing thing. Why, why, why? How? It was unpredictable and unexplained and I looked for a reason. I questioned the motives of God: If this was part of his plan, then what is the explanation or defense for it?

My questioning had no clear answer. But my mom made a poignant comment: "They say God only gives you what you can handle," she says. So what then? Is it a testament to our strength? Dad had been blessed with so many miracles, both on November 30th and January 27th: He survived the heart attack, he road to recovery was relatively smooth, and he held on despite three instances of cardiac arrest. So why take him now?

Less than a week after his death, a book arrived at our doorstep. It was from Lisa Napoli, an online pal of mine who was the Internet Correspondent for MSNBC. The title of the book: "Why Bad Things Happen To Good People," by Harold S. Kushner.

My mom started reading it before I did. She shared one paragraph in particular: "...Sometimes we have to look hard to find the miracle, because it doesn't always take the form we expected it to take," it said in part. It went on to describe examples of this. And it is a thought to be cherished: We survived. We grew stronger. We will go on and be his legacy. But we will never forget.