Preparing to Come Home

The next couple of days were tough. My mom and I realized we only packed enough clothes for two days and we were going to be in Denver longer than that. My dad was still on another planet. He told me that when we were to go home that week that he was going to go backpacking in the mountains the next weekend. He would also repeatedly refer to my mom as “chuckles.” She finally told him that if he called her as “chuckles” one more time, that she would smack him. He had never called her that before and now he doesn’t even remember calling her by that name. Then when my uncle arrived he ended up sharing a room with us. It was the first time since I was five that I had to share a queen-sized bed with my mom. Not particularly the most comfortable situation. We felt bad for my uncle, so we didn’t feel comfortable telling him he couldn’t share a room with us.

The C.C.U. was not the most comfortable for visitors. In my dad’s room there were only two stiff chairs. The hospital does not want the C.C.U. unit too overwhelmed by visitors, but they should make it comfortable enough for who need to be there. There were only three of us there. Yet only two could be in the room at a time. They were strict about this. No reasoning made sense to me at this time. We were from out-of-state and one of us sitting in the waiting room by ourselves seemed unfair considering the circumstances. They didn’t care of course.

The bleeding finally stopped in my dad’s brain and we were ready to go home. Our goal was to fly my dad to Salt Lake City to the University of Utah hospital. My dad’s doctor in Colorado said they either needed to arrange for my dad to go to Utah, or they would keep him in rehab for about a month before sending him back. My mom looked at the options and felt staying in Denver would be too expensive. We tried to arrange with a social worker to get a medical transport home. It seemed the social worker did everything but help. My mom took it into her own hands. She called a friend in Salt Lake and we began working with a company to fly home. About after a day we were quoted eight thousand dollars for the flight home. When my mom told me the cost I could feel my stomach sink down to my feet. I couldn’t figure out where in hell we would come up with the money. As convenient as is would have been to have the money available in case of emergency, I knew we didn’t have it. I knew this was going to be overwhelming for my mom. I made sure, if need be, that I had money on my credit card for her to use. We had to come up with half down before they would transport him back to Salt Lake City.

Since the social worker was absolutely no help, my mom had contacted a friend who put us in touch with a company that would transport my dad. I think the hospital wanted to keep my dad in the hospital due to the experimental procedure done on him.

We made the final arrangements for my dad. My mom was going to fly with my dad. I had the option to fly back by myself on a commercial flight or drive back with my uncle. By the fifth day of being with him and hearing his two cents on everything, I opted out for the ten-hour drive home with him. That is saying a lot considering I am afraid to fly and this would be the first time I would fly by myself. Thank god for the forty-minute flight.