The day the world was supposed to end?
I know I don’t usually post text or anything too personal on here, but I really need to get this off my chest.
Today, on 9.9.09 my Grandpa is living through a life support machine on the intensive care ward of the hospital 15 minutes walk from my house. I’m not really superstitious, not sure what I believe, but whilst people are laughing and ridiculing claims that the world was supposed to end today, my world really is coming crashing down. People die every day, people go through terrible things, and this is all relative, but I’ve never lost anyone before and I have no idea what to do.
My Grandpa has had a good life, don’t get me wrong, he has done exactly what he wanted to do with his time. But as a result of starting smoking too young (back when they encouraged it) and quitting too old (when it wasn’t so hot) he developed emphysema. He was monitored regularly and seemed to be doing okay for someone with his condition yet in the last 10 months he lost almost 4 stones, stopped walking anywhere and wouldn’t eat. We nagged him, he’s always let my Nana do things for him, and we thought he was being lazy and not doing enough walking to keep his lung capacity. He bit back and was angry and short tempered all the time, it made things very uncomfortable. We didn’t worry too much, after all he was still getting in his beloved rover every day and heading to his favourite pub for 3/4 of a pint (he couldn’t stomach a full one anymore) and the day we would really worry was when he stopped going alltogether.
Well that day came, and he also stopped driving, which was when we really worried. For the last few months he has had awful times, vomiting for almost 24 hours and we have had the doctors out, he has had x-rays, the lot. They were all apparently clear. On Sunday, for the first time in 6 months, my Grandpa got in the car and went out alone. He bought flower arrangements for my Nana, got her a beautiful bracelet and invited us all round for Sunday dinner. I suppose Sunday dinner isn’t anything special, we have it together every week, but usually my grandparents come to our house because my Grandpa likes it more. It seems like nothing but to my family, the fact that he had invited us there was really strange, but nice. He laid the table, washed up, cracked jokes and played music, again, things that don’t seem incredible but he hadn’t done for months. He ate too, had colour in his cheeks and was like the person he used to be, we were all amazed. He had written the name of some markets in Toulouse down for me, and I promised to bring him some things back.
We left their house so happy, feeling like he was maybe on the mend, it was incredible. On Monday morning I woke up late, maybe 9.30am, and heard the phone ring. It was my Mum, my Grandpa had been vomiting blood all night and at 7am had finally let my Nana call an ambulance. I threw on some clothes and realised I had no change to pay for parking, so I literally ran to the accident and emergency part of the hospital. I didn’t leave the hospital till about 4 or 5 that day, and all I remember is waiting, and feeling so sick and warm. I came home just to shower and went straight back to the hospital. They let us see him, and I just wanted to scream and cry and try and get him out of there. He was awake but so exhausted and couldn’t talk, and he was in so much pain.
Nobody knew what was going on, they couldn’t explain why he was so ill, and suspected a stomach ulcer that had burst and would need an operation, but because he was so frail, they made it clear he might not survive. We waited and waited and eventually had to go home around 9pm because he needed to rest. I came home and closed my eyes and fell asleep in my clothes. The next morning the door slammed at 6am and it woke me up. My Mum was on her way to the hospital, I found out when I rang her, and I just stood up, brushed my teeth and ran straight to the hospital again. They decided to take him for surgery but again, nobody could tell us anything because they didn’t know what they were even looking for. We were allowed to walk with him down to the operating theatre doors and then said goodbye. One thing I will never forget is that my Grandpa was so so weak. If he wanted to speak he had to close his eyes for minutes and conserve enough energy to open his mouth. On the way to the operating theatre he closed his eyes for ages, and when he finally opened them, he turned to me, told me he loved me, and winked.
We decided to just wait, and not to go home. We stayed at the hospital from 6am to about 5pm, waiting for any information. When we finally got the speak to the surgeon we found out that he was in intensive care, and that the operation had been a success. In true style, my Grandpa had to be different, he was always a character and his operation was no exception. His bowels had gone inside his stomach, twisted and turned almost inside out. This had punctured his spleen and caused the bleeding. The doctors were amazed, they actually took photos so that they could use him as a case study. They managed to sort everything out and the operation was successful but when we saw him we were told that he was actually on a life support machine, and although the operation had gone well, he wasn’t really responding or coming round from it, and he might not be strong enough.
Right now I am angry. Angry that my Grandpa had countless X-Rays and saw countless doctors about his puzzling weight loss and not one of them picked up on something abnormal (the hospital saw something straight away on the x-ray even though they had no idea what it was) If he hadn’t lost so much weight, if this hadn’t gone on so far, he might have survived the operation. The surgeon said this had definitely been happening inside him for almost 9 months. Right now he is getting the best care possible and there is nothing we can do but sit in the hospital. My parents have been there all night and we are going back today, but he seems to have deteriorated. I just wish that I could speak to him.
In a way, I’m so glad that if this had to happen at all, its happened now. I move to France in 3 weeks and if this had happened then, I would have come straight home. I have such a tight knit, close family and I’m so thankful for that. I’m trying to look after my Mum, who is in turn trying to look after my Nana. Being at the hospital all day has made me realise how many people go through this every single day, and how lucky I am to be here and be healthy. The doctors and nurses don’t seem very hopeful but I’m not giving up on my Grandpa yet. I’m not religious but I think I do believe in something, just not the man made rules and organised religion that causes so much hurt and anger today. Last night I sat in Tesco car park and just cried. I think I prayed, as much as I can pray when I have no idea what I believe in or who I’m even talking to. One thing is making me feel weird though, as much as, deep down he thought it was hogwash, my Grandpa used to buy Nostradamus books and tell me all about his crazy theories, it seems strange that on the day so many people have predicted ‘the end of the world’ his world is in a lot of danger.
