Retroexposure

Chapter 14 - My Dad's Death

Tuesday 30th October 2007 11:51pm
The reason I didn't add anything to my blog yesterday, is because I set myself the daunting task of rewriting the account of Dad's death that I briefly talked about at the beginning of this project. I felt that I should include it in this book. I'm calling it that, because having writing as many pages as I have done, it's certainly feeling like a book!
Anyway, I knew that I'd recorded the story of Dad's death onto a 'tribute' tape that I'd made a few years ago. Seeing as I couldn't find the original book that I'd written it down in, I thought it would be a smart idea to write it down like dictation. I'd had written about 4 pages of A4, when I remembered that I might have typed up the story already, but I couldn't find it. Then, just tonight, I'd found it on a floppy disc at the back of the bookcase. Now it doesn't include Dad's funeral or the subsequent mentions of the inquest that happened afterwards. Why I didn't write that down, I don't quite know. What I can say about the funeral, I'll say now:
More people attended his reception into church and his actual funeral, than I ever could have expected. Dad's colleagues actually closed the Jewson's branch where they worked for the first, and probably the only time in it's history. That was an amazing tribute in itself.
And now, here's the account of Dad's death as written by me, when I was struggling to deal with his death, three years after the fact:

Dad's Death
When Mum woke me up, I just looked at her sleepily She said "Get dressed, Dad's had an accident." Suddenly I was wide-awake and chucking on all my clothes. I was downstairs before I realised what was going on.
As we went down to the Leicester Royal Infirmary, We were thinking about what might have happened to Dad. Really, I thought that Dad might have just concussed himself. We parked opposite the Accident and Emergency entrance to the Royal and ran inside.
We went to the A + E reception to ask where Dad was, when Shaun and Elaine, two of Dad's colleagues, came and met us and told us what happened. Shaun and Elaine were the First Aid officers at Jewson's, my Dad's workplace. They explained that Dad had fallen from a balcony, I gasped in horror. Having had my work experience there for school, I knew what they were on about. This started to worry me.
By now, we were put in a relative's room. Mum was worried now because the last time she was in that room, My Gran, her mum, was dying. I started to get uncomfortable, so Shaun took me outside for a cigarette. I had quit for sometime, but under the circumstances, I didn't care. Shaun told me that he was the first on the scene, and that one of the young lads that worked there had witnessed Dad's fall. Shaun told the lad to get help. Shaun also said, and I'm not sure if this is true, that Dad tried to sit up, saying "Bloody Hell, Bloody Hell!"
When we got back, Mum was crying and I thought that the worst had happened, but thankfully it hadn't. I don't like Hospitals at all, so I went to the newsagent and got some newspapers so I had something to read while we waited for any news.
About one hour later, a nurse came in and told us that Dad was 'Critical, but stable.' She also said that we could go and see him. We went into the Resuscitation area and as we saw him, I couldn't believe what I saw. Dad's head and face was covered in blood, he had blood pouring from his nose and ears - a classic sign of a fractured skull. He was semi conscious, but more unconscious. I asked him to squeeze my hand if he could hear me. And I swear to this day, he squeezed my hand. To put it bluntly, he looked so fucked up I began to feel scared. We made our way back to the relative's room and told Shaun and Elaine the latest news. About 10 minutes later nurse told us that Dad was going for a CT scan to measure the level of activity in his brain. When he came back, a doctor told us that Dad's brain was swelling at an alarming rate. We were told that there were no beds on the I.T.U so they moved Dad to the Theatre Recovery Unit. This is where Mum got very upset. She told me that this was the first place that they'd first met each other and that this would be the last place they'd see each other. We were put in another private room. My Mum tried to contact our Parish Priest Father Phillip, but had no luck, so she asked for the hospital chaplain, so that he could perform the Last Rites, should the unthinkable happen. It took 20mins for the chaplain to reach the unit.
That was the first time I started crying. When I went into the unit, I saw my Dad connected to loads of drips and I just broke down and burst into tears. I felt my world collapse around me; I also thought that I was having a nightmare. Some of the nurses comforted me, or at least tried to. The Unit phone rang, and was passed on to my Mum through the hospital operator; she was connected to Andreas, Dad's boss. He rang to see if there was any news, so Mum told him that it looked quite serious. If I remember correctly, this was when we were told that Dad would have to be transferred to the Queens Medical Centre in Nottingham. Mum told Andreas the situation and Andreas said that he would meet us at our house and give us some money to tied us over (or something to that effect).
With Dad being prepared to go to QMC, we headed home to get things sorted for the journey over to hospital in Nottingham. We drove home in silence, not really knowing what lay before us. For some reason, we stopped off at the newsagents, probably to get a magazine to read or something. While I was getting the magazine, for some reason unbeknownst to myself, I decided to tell Sue and John Warren the husband and wife owners of the newsagents about Dad. In doing so, I worried them big time. I told them that I'd keep them informed of any news. As I left the shop, I noticed Andreas' car drive past. He was going to get to our house before us! We got back home and while Mum and Andreas were talking, I probably made them a coffee (I can't quite remember). Andreas gave us the money he promised us. Which was useful as we were strapped for cash. Ironic really, as Dad was planning to get an advance on his wages, as a German friend was due to spend Christmas with us.
Andreas drove us over to QMC. We got there about half an hour before the ambulance that was transporting Dad arrived - talk about an agonising wait (!) While we were waiting, we tried to find the Intensive Care Unit to which a bed was waiting for Dad's arrival. When he arrived the doctors and the nurses spent about an hour making Dad more comfortable, while we were put in a room that was to become our home while Dad was in hospital. Waiting around does my head in, so I asked Mum for some money so I could get some change for the payphone (Mum only had notes that Andreas gave her) as we were going to ring a lot of people.
One of the first people we tried to contact was Father Phillip, but he was unavailable. Having so many people to ring - time flew by. Dad's doctor, Dr Bowie, came to tell us about Dad's condition. He told us that the outlook was bleak. Being a nurse, Mum knew exactly what the doctor was saying. I hated the doctor's negativity, so I nicknamed him 'Dr. Bleak', Mum laughed a little, but the laughter turned to tears, as the potential truth sunk in. We rang back a few people to give a further update. While we were on the phone, we noticed a 6ft shadow standing in the doorway of the lounge - It was Father Phillip. He received our messages and came over as soon as he could. He was a tower of strength and supported Mum; I appreciated that, as he could talk to her better than me.
Steve, Viv and Andrew, our family friends, came at the same time, which was good for me, as I needed someone to talk to. I was dying for a cigarette so Andrew and I went for that much needed nicotine rush! It was freezing cold outside, about -4c. I was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and surprisingly the cold didn't affect me. Not for the first 5 minutes anyway! I just couldn't believe what was happening. It seemed so unreal. Having spent the whole day at the hospital, we were, obviously, unable to feed the animals, so Steve offered to take me home, so I could sort everything out, for the time being anyway.
I knew that Dad had bought me a new pair of trainers for Christmas. I didn't know if Dad would make it to Christmas Day or not. It might sound daft, but I felt that if I opened my present early, it would be good to thank Dad, even if he couldn't answer. I'm not sure if Mum minded me having the trainers early. After sorting out the animals, Steve and I headed back to the hospital. There was not much to do at that time of night, so we decided to try and get some sleep. Our room was less than 25 yards away from the Unit, so if there was any news, we could get there in no time.
The following day I gave Paul, my best mate, a call, and asked him if he could look after the animals for me. He said he would. (It turned out, however, that he didn't have the bottle to look after them, so I got Andrew to do it) I owe Andrew a hell of a lot. He may take the Mickey out of me, but we're great mates and really respect each other, or at least I'd like to think so.
Being at the QMC for a couple of days, they just merge together. One thing that I do remember is the annoying tune from the staff room Christmas tree. I mean it was SO annoying that Mum and I wanted to rip that damn tree out of it's socket! I remember Dad having an ICP (Inter-Cranial Pressure) pad that monitored the pressure of his brain inserted into his forehead.
It was obvious that my German friend wouldn't be able to visit us, so we had to phone him. I explained about Dad's accident, which, of course, he was sorry to hear about. However he seemed as though he was more concerned about getting his money back from the flight instead of concern for Dad. I was quite hurt by this and angry too.
I always thought that Dad, although in a deep coma, was able to respond to touch or something. I thought it was an improvement, when I brushed Dad's nose with my finger and he reacted. My hopes were dashed when a nurse said that all it was was a reflex action.
Soon it was Christmas Eve. It seemed as though Dad was showing signs of improvement, when the doctors took him of the full time ventilator and onto a spontaneous ventilator, which as I understand it, is allowing Dad to breathe on his own, if he can, but to assist him if he can't. Later that day or evening, a group of Carol Singers visited the ICU. They were singing all the traditional Carols. While they were singing, Mum and I kept an eye on Dad's ICP reading - it was at a steady pace. However when the singers were singing the First Noel, my Dad's reading shot up. Dad's first name is Noel, so Mum and I thought that Dad had heard his name and was responding to it. The Doctor, Dr Bowie (Bleak), played it down saying that it was just a coincidence. I refused to believe him. Keeping hope alive was my way of blinding myself from the eventual truth.
The next day was to be the weirdest Christmas Day I will ever have. Everything went on as normal, just like the past three days had been. We stayed by Dad's bedside a lot of the time. We had Christmas dinner in the staff canteen. Also we visited the hospital chaplain every day, while we were there. The Chaplain's Nun was a kind of Rock for Mum, but I couldn't stand being in the chapel all that long.
When Mum and I returned to the Intensive Care Unit, we were told that Dad had developed mild pneumonia, which I knew, when people were very ill, was the beginning of the end. Mum and I hypothetically discussed how we'd feel if Dad were to make a substantial recovery, enough so that he'd be able to come home. Mum and I agreed that Dad wouldn't be able to handle that, as he was a very practical person. When I say 'handle that' I mean he wouldn't want people doing things for him. He'd miss playing on his favourite Premier Manager computer game. Overall he'd hate not being in control of himself.
The next day, Boxing Day, Dad seemed to have beaten the worst of the pneumonia. At the news of this, I felt more hopeful than I had since the morning of Dad's accident, Monday 22nd December 1997. My hopes were lifted even more, when we were told that Dad would be taken off the ventilator. However Mum explained, tearfully, that Dad might not survive, under the stress of keeping himself alive. I think, No, I know, that this was very hard for Mum as, having been a nurse for over 25 years, she knew the consequences right from the start.
Dad was monitored and checked every half an hour. During the evening, Dad slowly deteriorated, and at about three minutes past midnight, Dad's pulse shot up past 160 beats per minute, it was very rapid. Then it slowed dramatically and at that point, 0:05 on Saturday 27th December 1997, Dad died.
I looked at Dad and saw the extent of his facial injuries. Apart from where the blood had poured from his nose and ears. He also had a big black eye, which was caused as a result of his fall. Because Dad land on his head and collarbone, Dad's brain had hit the other side of his skull, causing the said black eye. We were told to leave so that the nurse and doctor could complete their final notes.
Half an hour later, we were able to see Dad again before he was taken down to the mortuary. Nobel, one of the nurses, had the task of washing Dad down and wrapping him up in a white sheet. With Mum's nursing experience, maybe she should assisted him. However, Mum was still in shock I think, so I helped Nobel instead.
If I'm ever upset, I try to hide it with humour, and this was exactly my reaction at this point in time too. I remember and recited probably the worst and most insensitive joke I have ever said. It went something like:

Q. Why was the Egyptian boy so sad?
A. Because he found out that his Daddy was a Mummy

Mum's reaction to this so-called joke, was one of disbelief. I'm sure, if she were able, she would have flattened me for saying that stupid joke.
As I was assisting Nobel with Dad, we had to get the white sheet underneath him. And to do that, we had to roll Dad. Between us, Nobel and I were able to do this. I noticed that Dad had a 2ft bruise on his back, which I thought was from the accident. But Mum, who had snapped out of her shock explained that it was because all the blood had collected at the lowest part of his body - his back. Mum also said that she should've helped. I reassured her that I was happy to do it.
What I didn't tell her is that by helping Dad with this one last thing, it was probably the proudest moment in my life.
The End.
　
　 　
It's coming up to Dad's tenth anniversary, and I have absolutely no idea where all the time has gone! I love him. I miss him. I wish every day that he could be with me sharing all the experiences that I've had ever since he died. (Apart from my trouble with the law, of course!) Mum says that I've been thinking about Dad more than ever this past year. I guess I have. I've never forgotten him. Obviously! Whenever I buy football manager games, I will always feel as through he's sitting on my shoulder, playing the game with me. I'm sure if he were still alive, we'd be fighting over access to the manager game!

I love you Dad. I hope you and Chris (my twin brother) are playing Footie games in heaven! God Bless!

Dad – 10th December 1951 – 27th December 1997
Chris – 24th February 1981 – 26th February 1981.

Wednesday 31st October 2007 12:15am