Intuition

As my husband and I drove home from our anniversary dinner in September of 2024, I brought up my family. A rare subject, my husband listened quietly as I shared memories of the people I had gone no contact with years before. My cell phone rang just as my story time came to an end. It was my brother. We had only been speaking again for 6 weeks. He had called to tell me that our dad was in the hospital and it wasn't looking good. "He is giving up. I'm trying to keep him calm. I don't know what to do." I got off the phone and texted his girlfriend. "Do I need to come?" Her answer came without hesitation. "Yes."

I bought a plane ticket, packed a bag and went to bed. The next morning, I fidgeted nervously in my window seat, wishing I could get there faster and kicking myself for not seeing him sooner. I landed, rushed through my home town airport, grabbed a rental car and made my way to the hospital.

The line for security was long. It took half an hour just to get to the desk to sign in. My brother's girlfriend met me in line. I could feel sweat beading on my forehead as the guard handed back my license. Heart racing, hand shaking, I pressed the button for the elevator that would deliver me to the father I hadn't seen since I had left town a decade before. I took a deep breath, unsure of what waited for me. I crossed the threshold of the hospital room, watching my dad's face as I approached the side of his bed. The moment he registered that it was really me standing in his hospital room, he broke into the biggest grin and said, "What are YOU doing here?" and just like that, no time had passed at all.

The next two days, I spent hours with my dad. I talked to the specialists and the nurses. I spent time getting to know my brother's girlfriend and snuggling his newborn. By Sunday night, my brother found time to drop in. Moments after he greeted my dad, my dad fell into a very deep sleep. As I sat there watching the scene, the worst feeling crept into my heart. My dad barely woke up to say hi to my brother and his friend. Usually, when my brother and I were together, running at the mouth, you could hear my dad chuckling. Now, he stayed quiet. Just the slow, rhythmic breathing of someone in slumber and the usual hospital cacophony of machines, voices and foot steps.

My brother continued to talk with his friend as I got up and edged my way closer to my dad's bedside. I stood looking at his face; the color. Listening to his breath. Walking around the foot of the bed, I went to the machine and without thinking, reached out and cycled his blood pressure. The fear in my heart solidified as the numbers registered on the screen. 77/42. My brother quipped, "What's the matter? Can't see the screen from there?" A flash of irritation inside. My brother was blithely unaware of what was happening.

I stepped into the hallway, summoned my best, clinical emergency voice and simply said, "77/42." The man behind the desk stood up and ran into the room. My brother fell quiet behind us. I reached to lower the bed as the man took my dad's blood pressure again. 90/54. Not great, but better. Still, an icy finger of dread slid down the back of my neck.

My brother squeezed my dad's hand and left with his friend, fleeing the scene. The nurse introduced himself as the charge nurse. I kept talking as I approached the whiteboard and began writing my number. "My dad was a bit of a problem last night. They had to call security because he wouldn't lay down. If he gives you any trouble, call me and I'll come back and get him settled. He is very hard of hearing and can be uncooperative and my brother lives far away." The nurse nodded at me. "Do I have permission to use restraints on your dad if he won't cooperate?" I felt my heart constrict in my chest at the thought. "You do what you have to do to keep my dad safe. I have a bad feeling. Just watch him closely. Ok?" and with that, I put my hand in my dad's and snapped a picture, kissed him goodbye and left for the night.

I drove to the hotel, trying to shake that feeling. I cleaned up and went to bed. It felt like a second after I closed my eyes, I snapped awake and reached for my phone. It was 5 am. My hands began to shake as I registered the 5 missed calls from the hospital at 2 am. I listened to the first voicemail. Alarms were blaring in the background, a sharp contrast to the soothing voice of the charge nurse asking me to call back and leaving me the number. It took me 3 tries to dial. He answered on my 3rd call.

"Your dad ripped all of his monitors off..." My heart fluttered, thinking my dad had just been difficult, "...and then he went into cardiac arrest. We got him back. He is intubated in the trauma ICU. I am so sorry." My skin began to crawl. I just needed to get to my dad. I hung up with the RN and called my brother. His girlfriend answered the phone. "Pops coded last night. I'm on my way now. Get here." I heard her relay the news to my brother as I stumbled through the hotel lobby, sobbing. Tears were streaming down my face and people were starring. I didn't care. My brothers voice came over the line. "Get here." I repeated and hung up. Walking out into the dark, I knew I had gone to sleep one version of myself and woken up to another version of myself. The world felt muffled like it was wrapped in cotton.

Standing in Starbucks, I made a lasting impression. I stood, sobbing and crying silently, wiping my tears away, ordering and waiting. "Are you ok?" one employee ventured. "My dad coded last night."I croaked. It came out in a gut wrenching sob. "Hospital." I grabbed my coffee and walked out of a silent store, the customers inside stunned by my ability to go about my usual business in the face of such a situation. Ever the healthcare worker, mother and trauma survivor, attending to business while surviving the worst moment of my life wasn't anything new to me. Tears didn't matter. One foot in front of the other. Breathe in and out. Keep going. Just go.

Jumping in the car, I slammed it in reverse and gunned it towards the nearest freeway onramp. "Don't you take him from me!!!!!" I began screaming at the top of my lungs. "Please..." I begged. "Please don't take him. Don't take him God. Please don't take him." It became a screaming sob chant as I raced down the freeway at 90 miles an hour. "Don't you dare take him from me. I'm not ready. No! No! No! Don't you take him yet." I screamed at God the entire 25 minute drive to the hospital. My throat was too raw to speak when I approached the desk to check in.

Once the staff finally let me back to see my dad. I stood over him alone, crying. I popped my Air Pods into his ears and turned on his favorite song, "Pink Cadillac" by Bruce Springsteen. I stayed with him until they transferred him to the ICU. It would be 3 more hours before my brother arrived and when he hugged me, I broke down again, sobbing, "I'm not ready." My brother squeezed me and sat down to do his paperwork. I paced like a caged tiger waiting to be with my dad.

Once they buzzed us in, I went to my dad's bed side and took his hand. When I looked up at my brother, I could see all the color had drained from his face. My dad had been intubated. The machine was breathing for him to take the pressure off of his heart and lungs. I had known what to expect but I hadn't prepared my poor baby brother. The palliative care team came in. When I saw them, I knew the doctors didn't have much hope for my dad to survive. My brother watched me to figure out what was happening. I gave him a slight shake of the head as if to say, "No. It isn't good." slipping back into a more familiar role of big sister, explaining to a little brother the world at large.

The doctor began to lay out my dads prognosis. Weak heart. Kidney's failing. He could have brain injury from the arrest. "What would you like us to do?" the doctor asked. My brother looked to me. I spoke. "Let's give him a chance to fight. He tore up his DNR because he wanted to be with his grandkids. I say we give him the chance to do that." My brother nodded, backing me. "But his body can't take much more..." the doctor began. I held up my hand. "My dad survived Polio as a kid. He survived a motorcycle accident when I was a toddler that doctors swore would leave him a vegetable. He is strong. He can fight. I'm gonna let him fight." The doctor shook his head in frustration as he left the room. That man might have had a degree in medicine but I had a degree in my dad.

Sure enough, within 24 hours, my dad was extubated. Over the next two weeks, I spent every waking moment with him in the ICU, nursing him back to health as best I could given his prognosis. I met the respiratory therapist that saved his life. I introduced them and watched his face light up as he held her hand, the hands that had saved his life that night.

Not long after, I recounted the events of that night to my dad. I watched my him tear up as I told him I had screamed at God not to take him and God had let him stay. At the end of my story, my dad asked me to call the hospital chaplain. He had decided he wanted to be baptized.

My dad would go on to discharge home. The nurses would tell me I had saved my dads life that night just by trusting my intuition and speaking up. The medical team was with my dad when his heart stopped because I had warned them that I thought something was off and they were well versed enough to know that I know my dad better than they did. That one decision to speak up and advocate for my dad had probably changed the entire course of his outcome.

We had one more family trip together before I returned home with my kids. My dad go one more Thanksgiving, one more Christmas, one more New Year's, my dad got one more birthday and one more Easter...

The days marched on but as we slid into May, I started feeling a strange energy. 10 days into the month, one of my employees sent me a picture of a little bird that had flown into the window of our office. I replied, "Oh no. That is a bad omen." for my Grandmother always said if a bird flew into a window, that meant a loved one would be called home soon. 5 days later, I received word that my dad had gone on Hospice.

Just two days later, while at a music festival, I thought of my dad as I sat on the beach, remembering the concerts we had attended together in my teen years. I got up and walked to the restroom area on the other side of the venue. I didn't have service on the beach but as I came inland, my phone began to beep with messages that hadn't gone through when they were sent.

My breath caught as I read the words on the screen. "Randy passed away this morning." The sound around me faded like a flame extinguished. It was exactly 7 days after the bird hit the window at my office. Intuition can be a double edged sword because some times, even though you feel somthing coming, there is nothing you can do to prepare yourself for the pain when the thing you thought was coming actually arrives.

I steadied myself and looked out over the crowd. A fitting moment place to hear the news, on a beach at sunset, at a concert. The night my dad died subsequently brought me to devout faith. I had beseeched God not to take my dad from me. Now, our final Goodbye had come. The only thing left to do was to thank God for hearing my prayers in the aftermath of the night, using the opportunity to change my dad's heart and create his relationship with God before it was too late and working through that night to show me that my one true father does hear and answer my prayers.

Intuition is just God whispering, "This way, my child...follow me."