Waiting is so hard...

Update: Dad made it through the operation! The good part is that the surgeon was able to pin the hip and didn't have to do a complete replacement. The bad part is that they couldn't give Dad an epidural with a mild sedation because he has been on a drug that could cause him to bleed out. He had to have a full general anaesthetic which could worsen his mental capacities. So now we wait again...and see how he is when he comes out of it. Thanks to everyone SO much for your kind thoughts and prayers.
The following is a shortened version of a post (from Dec. 06) about my Dad. He had a bad accident at the care home yesterday (Friday) and long story short, broke his hip. Turns out the xrays indicate he'd broken the same hip further down some time in the past and it had healed on its own. Now I know my Dad is one tough old coot, but imagine the pain he must have endured, thinking it was probably a pulled muscle. He was quite the athlete in his day (as you'll read below) and was never one to give in to a bit of pain. The photo is from last October when we celebrated Thanksgiving and my birthday together and you can see his great sense of humour. It's unbelieveable how he's declined so fast this past year. He sure doesn't look 86, does he?

As I write this, Dad is toothless, with a suction tube down his throat, and oxygen in his nose awaiting surgery tomorrow (Sunday) to repair this break. If his old bones won't hold three screws, the surgeons will need to do a hip replacement. He's not giving up because he's so mad at the other old coot who pushed him down. Hopefully, this anger will keep him going so he'll survive the next few days. I also keep reminding him about his next great grandchild coming so he'll have a reason to hang on. But, he is so high risk because of his age and having already survived a quadruple bypass, knee replacement, colon cancer, and the strokes that landed him in the care home last February.

The waiting is so hard on us all. We were at the hospital from noon until almost nine last night when Dad was transferred to another hospital for the surgery. I didn't sleep and only managed a short nap today after seeing him all prepped. My eyes are burning and my throat is sore from crying and worrying about him. All I can do now is pray that God's will be done and that Dad doesn't suffer. All prayers and good vibes gratefully accepted. Thanks everyone...

I've learned a lot about my Dad in the last several years. It's helped me to understand him as a person, not just as my father. He was lucky not to have had to go overseas during WWII, but he was a pilot in the Royal Canadian Air Force training other pilots and patroling the East Coast of Canada for submarines and enemy aircraft. He never talked much about the war until recently and it's been fascinating to hear his stories.

On Christmas Day, my daughter was showing Dad the wonders of the internet. He was amazed when she pulled up the 1946-47 photograph of his soccer team. Dad was a local athletic hero back in his younger days. We have many newspaper clippings from the Vancouver Sun Sports pages extolling his skill on the soccer field. Bookshelves proudly display his medals, trophies, and framed photos. He then became a linesman and referee, and ultimately, Northern Commissioner for the province of BC. He was also instrumental in modernizing the referees' uniforms, changing them from the black and white stripe to basic black with white collar. In 1987, the St. Andrew's Soccer Team was inducted into the BC Sports Hall of Fame. It touched my heart as I watched the memories flooding back to him.

I remember Dad blasting on his referee whistle to call us kids to come home from whatever we were doing in the neighbourhood. I also remember going to soccer games around Vancouver, especially Callister Park. We kids loved Callister Park because it had bleachers and a refreshment stand. We'd run up and down the steps and around the outside of the stadium, stopping for a hot dog and a pop when we got tired. At outdoor parks, we'd play on the swings as my Dad ran up and down the field blowing his whistle, making weird gestures, and waving flags. Before the games, my Dad would always tell us to stay out of the way if a fight broke out. That happened frequently when the Italy and England teams played. We weren't really interested in the games and didn't understand such things as "penalties" or "offsides" but what was important was that we were with our Dad.