TGI 2013, and TG I Have Friends

Anyone who's dealt with me knows I love to talk. I like to give opinions, tell stories, and supply a generous amount of humor to conversations. There are only two times I don't. One is when I'm too busy, the other is when things have gone drastically wrong in my life.

2011 was one of the happiest, and busiest, years of my life. 2012 was the saddest.

My father's first visit to the hospital happened during my appearance at the Kentucky Book Fair in November 2011. I joked with the authors beside me that he was trying to weasel out of a heart cath, so he couldn't be that bad off.

At Christmas, it was clear that he was in trouble. He was physically miserable and unable to do much more than watch television. Gwen and I asked then if he needed us to move down to Florida to help out. He refused, saying he wasn't 'there' yet.

On February 26th, he arrived.

He collapsed at his computer, and Mother called 911. He spent the next month in the hospital, while Gwen and I gave quick notice at our jobs and packed up the house. We wouldn't have made it without the help of Gwen's family. They helped us pack, made repairs on the house, and took turns on the drive to Florida. They were truly wonderful.

We arrived to a mess. My parents' house, and their way of living, required severe adjustments. Dad was wheelchair bound, so we had the local handyman over to put in ramps. He also converted the enclosed bath into a walk-in so Dad could use a bench.

Most of the bill-paying and medication ordering had been done online by my father. We strongly suspect that he had a mini-stroke when he collapsed, because when he came home he was no longer able to use his computer. Gwen and I took those over, and now they are done mostly on paper so my mother can participate.

His health continued to decline, which you may have gathered from the obit I posted earlier this year. In many ways, his death was a mercy. It was a hard way to die, and I am grateful to Hospice for making it as comfortable as possible.

I didn't post much here, but I did share the harrowing experience with my friends on Facebook. So many of them offered their support and encouragement during the bad times, I could not name them all. During the final week in the hospice facility, several were posting cute kitten and puppy pictures nonstop on my wall because it was my only relief from the emotional blast furnace.

A number of arrangements and filings had to be made, and we're still making bureaucratic adjustments nearly four months later. Enough space has been opened up, though, to see our future, and we don't have one. Gwen has a part-time job, and I don't know if I have a real post-holiday job with Macy's yet. We have no savings left and no health insurance.

I'm still looking forward to 2013, though... because I'm damned glad 2012 is over.

Encomium: Frank C. Glenn Jr.

In the Fifties, Frank Glenn planned to join the Navy. Instead, his favorite teacher at Asheville High School told him was too smart not to go to college. She helped him get a scholarship to Wake Forest University. He met his wife, Kassiani ('Kathy'), just before graduating in 1961 and married her three weeks later. He waited until after the wedding to buy her glasses.

After the children arrived, Frank had to get a real job. He worked for Science Research Associates for several years selling educational materials to schools. During his career, his territories included five states and the military, and he earned a masters’ degree in education from the University of Tennessee. He spent the longest time of his employed years living in Lexington, Kentucky, where he was a deacon and firebrand at Central Baptist Church.

In 1994, Frank took early retirement and began his real work. He and his wife became missionaries for the United Church of Christ at Silliman University in the Philippines, where Frank taught Old Testament and Kathy taught social work. Their special projects were raising money to run water pipes to mountain to villages in desperate need of water, and founding the “One Church, One Child” foster care project.

His lifelong hobbies were music, politics, and religion. He was fondest of Bach, Mozart, and Beethoven. He was an active member of the Democratic Party and worked to support local candidates in the places where he lived, especially after his second retirement to Tarpon Springs, Florida. Religious discussions were where he excelled, however. The discovery of the Nag Hammadi Library spurred a lifelong interest in gnosticism. Later, he became a follower of John Dominic Crossan and involved with The Jesus Seminar.

Of all his achievements, he was proudest of participating in the 1960 Woolworth’s sit-ins in Winston-Salem. He was in the divinity school at Wake Forest at the time, and braved a riot on an issue of fairness and principle.

Frank Glenn passed away in Tarpon Springs on September 11th, 2012, due to complications from sarcoidosis (diagnosed in 1979) and pulmonary hypertension (diagnosed in 2005). He was under hospice care for the last six weeks of his life, during which he paid for his green burial, planned his own memorial celebration, and commissioned an elegy from Gwen Mayo (she agreed after informing him that the deceased got no editorial rights). Frank also wrote a final address to the congregation, which his daughter read at the service.

He is survived by his wife, Kassiani Glenn, and his brother, Ted (Freda) Glenn. He is also survived by his children, Sarah (Gwen) Glenn, Joel (Kathryn) Glenn, his Filipino son Phyns Fabrigar Patalinghug, adopted daughter Deborah (Stan) Karbo, grandchildren Christy McMillen, Aimée Karbo, Suzi Karbo, Travis Karbo, Charlie Karbo, Olivia Karbo, and great-grandchildren Shawn Brown and Hunter McMillen. He is also survived by his godchildren of the Andog family: Shian Mae, Kassiani, Franklenn, and Josémarie. Finally, he is survived by his uncle Jack (Eva) Glenn, his daughters Deborah, Jacque, Tina, and Vixi Jill, and their children.

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Ennui and Thanatos

The last few months have been very difficult ones. My father's health has continued to decline. He was hospitalized again earlier this month, and Hospice is now helping us care for him. The doctors say there is little more they can throw at his various ailments.

The disintegration of his body is echoed by the disintegration of my psyche. I had a job where I was liked, a house, a novel to sell, friends I could visit in person, and an extended writing community I enjoyed. I sold the house, moved away from my job and friends, and have been unemployed until this week. Today, I began a temp job that lasts for a couple of weeks. Employment has been long-desired by me and, I hope, will lend me a little sanity along with the ability to pay down debts.

Television dramas about dying family members are usually sentimental and depict families tearfully coming together and ironing out their differences. It's not like that in my experience; my parents still shout at each other daily over items that mostly have no consequence while the elephant languishes in the corner. We don't go out much. We watch a lot of television, prepare food, pick things up around my bedridden father, and make small talk.

We are sitting around waiting for Dad to die.

I need to redo the bio on my Web page. I only wish I knew who I am now. My days are filled with Murder She Wrote episodes on Netflix, arranging my father's medications, calling the hospice people, interacting online with Dad's friends, and - most recently - working on his burial arrangements.

My online writing friends think I should have plenty of time to write. Unfortunately, writing is something I have to work the nerve up to do under the best of circumstances. Right now, even thinking about working on fiction makes me want to cry. My words have scattered to the far winds and I wonder if they will ever blow home, rolling like the sea foam does across the causeway.

I'm reading, but not always easily. My concentration varies with Dad's condition. His health varies from day to day, as do his moods. Some days, he is the father I love. Other days, he is bitter, fussy, angry, and fearful. I have at least one book I want to review, but once again words fail me.

The only writing work I'm doing, in fact, is typing up his memoirs. He has designed many Bible lessons but has only rarely attempted expository writing. His writing still reflects his desire to teach, but some of the content is more personal. I'd often suggested he try his hand at writing a book on religion; this may be as close as he comes.

The new job gives me something real, fresh to talk about with him, a new avenue of small talk that helps diverts us both from the truth: we are waiting for death.

Where the Hell Did I Go?

It's been a long damned time since my last post.... because a lot has happened since, and it hasn't been good.

My father, who has sarcoidosis and pulmonary hypertension, collapsed at the end of February. The EMTs were able to stabilize and transport him to the hospital, but he will need care for the rest of his life. My mother, who has arthritis of the spine and diabetes, was unable to do this on her own.

Instead of them going to assisted care (more likely a nursing home for my father's needs), Gwen Mayo and I quit our jobs and moved to Tarpon Springs, Florida. Yes, we had a mortgage. Yes, we had years of payments left on the car we purchased in October of last year. Yes, we owe money for other stuff. But move we did. It beat leaving my mother alone and destitute after my father passes (I hope the latter will be delayed with our assistance).

We were fortunate to receive assistance, in the form of both cash and labor, from our coworkers and friends. My stepdaughter has taken over the house so the grandsons will have a place to live when they're ready for college (that day is approaching faster than I thought possible). Dad is out of the hospital and appears to be on the mend, albeit at reduced capability.

I hope to get some type of income soon. It will need to be part-time, at least during this stage of my father's recovery. Will I ever write again? Composing this blog, I hope, is a positive step.

Right now, all my brain wants to do is scream. Even after being here for three weeks.

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Pulmonary Hypertension (PH)

Today is Pulmonary Hypertension Blogging Awareness Day. Sorry if this isn't a detailed enough entry, but I thought I just had to be 'aware' this month, not blog about it.

Trust me, though, I am always aware of PH. My father has it. Not only does he have it, he has it secondary to sarcoidosis, which is a rare complication of a rare disease. I always knew he was exceptional, but he should have limited himself in this regard.

What is pulmonary hypertension? It is not the 'regular' hypertension you see in the drug commercials on TV, and it can't be measured by an arm cuff. Basically, pulmonary arterial hypertension is high blood pressure in the artery that takes the blood from your heart to your lungs... you know, where it gets the oxygen your body needs. The general cause? Narrowing/blockage of that artery or in the blood vessels of the lungs. Your body WANTS that oxygen, it NEEDS it, but the pipelines are blocked. The heart pushes harder. The blood backs up and the pressure increases. Honestly, it's easier to understand if you think of it as a plumbing problem.

Consequences? Shortness of breath and feeling faint are common symptoms. You're trying to get more oxygen into your body, but the problem is really that the blood has slowed to a trickle. Your heart may try to beat its way out of your chest or you could develop chest pain at even minor exertion. Taking oxygen helps. Dad has one of those little rolly oxygen concentrators now.

Plus, EVERYTHING tires you out. You don't have that much oxygen to work with, so your energy burns out quickly. This sucks, especially if you're impatient, a workaholic, or a general Type A person. What sucks even more? Some people with PH need medication delivered directly into their hearts. They carry a pump on their person at all times, and it has a tube that literally goes INTO your body and enters your heart! What sucks the most? Eventually, the high blood pressure will damage your heart.

Dad was diagnosed with sarcoidosis when I was 16. I'd like to say that only five years had passed since then, but you've already seen my picture. At the time, they told him that he probably had 10 years to live. He made liars of them; he's still around. In 2005, he was diagnosed with PH. The pulmonologist wasn't much help: shortness of breath? That's to be expected, considering the number of granulomas (my father calls them 'granolas') in your lungs. Come back in a year. If it's worse, we'll try prednisone again.

Bull. This wasn't the shortness of breath Dad was used to. He went to a cardiologist. The cardiologist ran various tests, and then proposed a stress test. A friend's father had died of a heart attack brought on by a stress test, so I wasn't too keen on the idea, but Dad did it. Walking? He'd done that all his life, fat or thin. Soon into the test, the cardiologist stopped him. He said he wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it. My father had PH. The doc had only read about it.

Most docs don't know a lot about pulmonary arterial hypertension because it's so rare. The cardiologist didn't know much. It was a pulmonary problem, so he referred Dad back to the pulmonologist. This was the same fellow who had ignored the rapid heartbeats, the chest pain, and the drowning feeling. Dad wasn't going to go back to that 'idiot'. Since I work in CME, he thought I might be able to find better information, or at least a better pulmonologist.

My father doesn't really spend a lot of time looking up his ailments. That would involve thinking about the ailments, which causes him stress. The regular world offers us enough of that. For me, though, research eases stress, even when a quick cure isn't available. I Googled medical sites like WebMD and MayoClinic.com, and learned what I could about the subject. Eventually, I found the PH Association webpage. This is a support group primarily for PH patients and their families, but they also work with healthcare professionals to provide physician education on this rare disorder.

The site is great! It has understandable information about PH and its treatment, contact information for support groups across the country, news on PH research, and reading material you can order if you need more in-depth info (for example, for people who developed PH after taking Fen-Phen). They also had information on PH specialists, and I found one my father could see.

Since that time, which was scary as hell for everyone, my father's condition seems to have stabilized. He uses oxygen, but doesn't require a Flolan pump as of this writing. The current life expectancy for PH after diagnosis is five to fifteen years; Dad is chugging along at four. Let's hope he makes liars of the doctors again.

For more information, check out the PH Association's webpage.