As if today being “Super Tuesday” isn’t bad enough, I’m spending it sitting in the Central Lounge of City Hospital while my dad undergoes a 3-4 hour procedure on his heart. Big, long, deep sigh.

Where do I begin? It’s been just the Beitkos with my dad since 1985. That’s a long time. And I know that there are many people my age who have already lost both parents so I’m lucky I’ve had him as long as I have. Still. My brain knows that but my heart (in true honey badger fashion) doesn’t give a shit.

In 2003, my dad had open heart surgery. In 2007, he had some stents placed along with a pacemaker and defibrillator. Since then, his heart has been an issue on and off, but really the Old Bird is pretty damn active and healthy. He goes to the Y to work out, lives on his own, eats healthy, goes to all the grandkids’ (23! Plus a great!) activities, and generally stays a vital pain in the ass to all of us.

And then Saturday happened. I got a phone call from my baby sis as I was leaving work that she was taking Dad to the ER because of low blood pressure, high heart rate, and a general feeling of shittiness. [As a rule, having nurses as daughters (both me and my sis) is a blessing and a curse.] We (me, sis, and local brother) spent hours in the ER with dad’s heart in an abnormal (and dangerous) rhythm. After COPIOUS amounts of medications and a room in CCU, his heart rate & rhythm finally got back to normal. Until, of course, the heart catheterization yesterday.

Being a nurse is great and awful in situations like this: great because it gives me a better understanding of what to expect and awful because it gives me a better understanding of what to expect. I suspected the catheterization would do exactly what it did: kick my dad back into the dangerous rhythm. Since then, they have again been giving him copious amounts of very powerful medications. This time to no avail. His heart kicked into a normal rhythm for about thirty minutes last night and then when right back into the dangerous one.

Fast forward to this morning. The electrophysiologist came to talk to dad. (Amusing side note: The doc showed up as I was walking into the hospital and my brother texted me to give me a heads’ up. That is literally the first time I’ve actually run in about seven years. Leave it to my dad to get me to exercise.) Anyhoo, the doc said that since the IV medications aren’t working, we have one option. An option that gives my dad 50/50 chance of getting out of this dangerous rhythm. And if it doesn’t work, I didn’t even ask about the next step since I’m not sure I want to hear that answer. Because I’m the nurse, and because in situations like this I generally detach, I’ve been unofficially in charge of updating the other kids (remember, my dad had seven!) and the older grandkids. Try formulating a text to tell those that love him most that are odds of this procedure helping are the same as a coin toss. No one has the right words for that.

Serendipitously, the doctor that does said procedure had a cancellation today so in one hours’ time (seriously a hospital record because HOSPITALS!), they whisked Dad off to the OR as family members scramble to get here before he comes out of surgery. We had tried to get the medical POA completed before this, but the Notary wasn’t here, yet, so my sis and I asked my dad for clarification on his wishes. Also a conversation that is no fun. In true Dad-fashion, he answered our question and then burst into tears. Only he didn’t actually burst into tears. As I jumped up to comfort him, he howled with laughter. What a jerk. 😉

So now we wait. And wait. And wait.

And now I start to think. And think. And think. I’m curiously calm which is just confirmation to me that I’ve successfully detached, as I so often do in these situations. It’s a great gift in the moment and will punch me in the gut later. I’ve already prepped G for the emotional shit storm he’ll be facing later. I’m thoughtful like that!

Signing off as family is arriving. Go squeeze your beloveds. Tomorrow is never promised.