Euthanasia used to just be a word.  You know, have you heard about the "Youth in Asia?"  It was just a distant word, until we had to face it head on...

When dad was first put into the ICU (Intensive Care Unit) we had no idea of the statistics and had never even heard of this type of stroke.  This has been a huge learning curve for all of us in SO many ways. 

When got into town, we went straight to the hospital.  The kids handled our first "visit" with dad so well.  They talked to him, held his hands and sang and prayed over him.  We were a little worried that the trauma of it all would be too much for them, especially the 4 year old, but we have never tried to hide reality from them before and they (the older two) have been through worse and come out stronger on the otherside, so we took them right up there with us.  During our week and a half stay the ICU nurses were really good with the kids and us too answering lots of questions and allowing us in and out of there at all hours of the day and night.  They listened to us all sing and pray and talk and talk to dad just willing him to open his eyes for us.  There were only a couple of nurses who were really unpleasant, the rest were very helpful. 

Where we encountered the greatest oppression was from the doctors.  Right from the start they started pushing us to unhook all the life support and "just let him go."  They never once gave us a speck of hope, telling us they had "never seen someone in your dad's condition recover. Ever."  "No, I don't belive in miracles."  "It's cruel to keep him alive like this, what kind of quality of life is he going to have liek this?"  "Wouldn't he rather have you let him go than prolong this."  And on and on --even now it still continues.

We FINALLY figured out a few things.  1.  They really feel they have to give the worst case scenario, because if they are wrong and they give the family hope then they are liable.  2.  This is Canada, the home of "Socialized" Medicine.  It is a direct drain on the government's finances to prolong the life of anyone who does not have a high probability of a good recovery.  A 10% chance of a good recovery sounds way too expensive to a governmental medical system that is not even holding itself together very well. 

About 90% of the nurses were, as I would put it, "on dad's side."  They gave us stories of hope and encouraged us to keep talking, and singing and praying.  "He can hear you, I know he can." one nurse told us. 

Another nurse, when I told her that I was so frustrated with the bleakenss of the doctor's reports that they had NEVER seen someone in my dad condition recover, replied, "O yes they have.  They just can't tell you that."  She keyed us into the liability side of things.  She also told us part of her story.   SHe herself had been in a coma.  Her parents were informed that she would not live and if by chance she did, she'd be a vegetable.  (And yes, they really do talk to families of injured patients that way!), they refused to allow her 5 year old to say good bye to her as they wheeled her into the emergency surgery, where they expected her to not come out alive --or at least as a vegetable.  She told me that that is the one thing she will never forgive that neurologic surgeon for.  I don't know how long she reamained in the coma with her parents fighting for her life, but now she works as a nurse on the floor where my dad was eventually transfer too, and she is our greatest ally.  We are working on alternative treatments and anything that we are confident will not be harmful and could potentially be helpful, that the doctors won't agree to --"She'll help us out with that!"  So far they have agreed to the first 4 things we presented them with. 

We will stay the course on preserving my father's life and praying for his recovery.  The road could be long, but my disabled mom, who is struggling a lot without dad there to help her, has been to the hospital every single day to visit him since he got there.  This is the same mom who used to get out 1-2 times in a month if it was a good month. 

I told you dad was working on finishing the downstairs renovation.  Well that first week and ahalf in between spending time at the hospital with dad that's what we did, tried to finish up the little bits we could of what he had been working on and move the stuff from downstairs upstairs and move what mom needed from upstairs, downstairs.  This was enough to move even the strongest of heart to tears, as my dear mom is an extremely sentimental packrat!

I will continue in part three by telling about dad's progress so far.  Thanks for reading so far already.