We’re leaving the hospital where Dad has just finished his weekly paracentesis, a procedure where they drain about 3 liters of fluid from his his belly (ascites). He accumulates the fluid because his heart is in AFIB, the upper chamber is not beating in sync with the lower chamber (sinus rhythm), so the blood pressure to his liver is low and causes blood to pool there. The liver responds by shedding water and albumin, which bloats his belly and puts pressure on his stomach, heart, lungs, hernia, etc. For 3 or 4 days afterward he feels much better, can breathe, has an appetite, and his hernia shrinks.
This day, he has an appointment with his cardiologist about an hour afterwards. It’s near the hospital, so there isn’t time to drive home and back, and the Dr. can’t see us sooner. So we head over to Wendy’s to get him some chili. After we’ve eaten our lunches in the parking lot and we’re headed to our appointment, dad has a distressed look on his face.
Dad: I think I’m going to have to go, very soon.
Randy (driving faster): Hold on dad, we’re almost there, hang in there!
I pull up under the over-hang, slam it in park, race around the car, help him out, and hand him his walker. He’s moving that walker fast, I’m holding the lobby door open and I’m pointing to the women’s restroom because the men’s is occupied. He’s hesitating, he doesn’t want to use women’s. He’s aiming his walker back and forth between the doors. Suddenly the men’s door opens and an older gentleman with a walker slowly emerges, taking his time, he looks up, and sees the panicked look on dad’s face. An invisible line of communication passed between them, knowledge, understanding, and empathy. Then it was like two fast moving walkers passing in the night – click, shuffle, slide, repeat. Suddenly dad’s pants are down around his ankles, his hand is on the door latch, the door clicks open, and boom — too late.
I’m dancing around on tiptoes, assessing the situation, making big cleanup plans, formulating a strategy. I get dad parked on the porcelain and beg him to please just wait, don’t do anything, don’t try to clean up, please, please, just sit there.
Looking up, I see the lobby area near the restrooms has been vacated of patients who are now sitting far away along the opposite wall, with their masks in the upright and locked position. I calmly walk up to the receptionist, knock on the glass, and whisper, “Hi, I’m Randy Viosca, Bob Viosca’s son. We’re here for our 1:00 with Jeff, but we have a major bowel spill over by the men’s room, so if you have some cleaning supplies I’d really appreciate it.” She smiles and says, “Oh, ok. We’ll be right with you.” and slides the glass back shut.
I’m nervous as I have memories of a story dad tells about our family dog, a long haired Lhasa Apso, named Tiki. Whenever it was storming outside, she would keep everyone up all night howling. So dad put her and her doggy bed, in the closet. The next morning he went to let her out and he says what emerged was a 30 pound dingle berry.
I’d waited about a minute, which seemed like 20, and decided to tiptoe back to the restroom to check on dad, and mercifully he’s still parked. I feel a tapping on my shoulder, turn around, and there’s a nurse with cleaning supplies and biohazard bag. I thank her and reach for the supplies and she says, “No, no, no… don’t worry. I got this. I used to be a hospital nurse and know exactly how to do this.” Pointing she says, “You sit down over there!” She pokes her head into to the restroom, asks dad how he’s doing, sees he’s is okay, and tells him to stay put. She quickly cleans up the entrance, floor, door and walls, then goes in and cleans him up. They emerge about 10 minutes later, and he’s sporting new drawers and pants. She hands me the sealed up bio-bag with his clothes in it. I’m so grateful, I’m actually crying.
A few minutes later, the receptionist calls out “Mr. Bob, we’re ready for ya!” And we go off to the exam room. His nurse practitioner, Jeff, says he heard we had a little incident in the lobby. I told him that a really kind nurse helped us out. He asked who and I said I didn’t get her name, but she was shorter, black hair, and has cat-eye glasses. Jeff said, “Yes, that’s Jenny, she’s a hospital nurse.”