First off, the good: Saturday we spectated the US Olympic Marathon Trials, and it was THE AWESOME. I have plans to write a spectator report. (But I also have plans to write up a Christmas recap, so.... we'll see.) But it was THE AWESOME.
Then Sunday we set the alarm early to get up and get me to the EP5K. I went upstairs to wake the Z, and the child was FLAMING HOT. Serious fever. So I didn't run. I probably could have gone by myself, but I had planned on getting dropped off and not worrying about parking. So I was already running late at that point. And I definitely wasn't taking Z out of the house in the cold with a fever. And I really didn't much want to leave her, either. And so Mama had her first DNS casuality to the baby. Something tells me it won't be the last. But I was really disappointed and kind of down about it all morning.
I took the baby up to pat her down for her nap around 11. While I was patting her, I kept imagining that I heard Preston's voice, odd, because neither of us ever really talks on the phone, and there was no one else in the house. Also odd because there was a ton of white noise in the house: clothes washing and drying, pressure cooker, dishwasher, hood vent. When I finally got Z to sleep, I went downstairs to the news that Aunt Dollie had had a heart attack.
We actually jumped into action rather slowly. At first P misunderstood and thought that it had happened the night before. And she was awake, so it wasn't quite as alarming. Pretty soon, though, the caregiver called back and told him that he needed to get to the hospital asap. I knew we couldn't take the Z, so I sent him along, finished the cooking, and then took her to her grandparents' house so I could go to the hospital.
It was dark times. P called me while I was driving. Aunt Dollie is a DNR and they were wanting to intubate. I got to his dad's and basically threw the baby at them and ran back to the car. I was at least 45 minutes from the hospital, and all I could think of was that he needed my support.
When I got there... well... I just didn't see how she was going to make it. You know what a normal heartbeat looks like? Hers was unrecognizably in A-fib. It looked more like a TDF elevation profile than a heartbeat. And her breathing. She was struggling so much to breathe. Every breath expanded her chest and her neck... it looked like she was using every muscle she had just to get air. And her heartrate was hovering around 120. She's 90 years old. A heart that old just can't sustain a workload like that for very long.
I won't go into the minutia of the rest of that day.
The shocking thing was the next day: I went to see her and she looked *better*. Quite a bit better. Not struggling to breathe. Much. Heartbeat looked more like a heartbeat. Which is always comforting. She even ate a few bites of food.
She wasn't and isn't out of the woods yet. Her heart is still in an irregular rhythm. That puts her at risk for blood clots and other nasty issues. But yesterday she sat up. And today they are talking about moving her into a real room. Some day soon I'm going to write a post about how amazingly strong this woman is. 90 years old. Has survived cancer, a broken-hip fall, 2 major abdominal surgeries at 87 and 88, and now a major heart attack. She's a true tough Texas woman. No doubt.
Then in the midst of all this, I came up sick yesterday. I'm not running, and I obviously can't expose Aunt Dollie to my evil germs, so I'm back out of things for a bit. What a wild ride we're on. Seriously.
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