My Dad is dying. 

It is Saturday morning, Aug. 11th and the little bleeder that could has become an engine that won't stop.  My conversation with Judith, the Charge Nurse, spooks me enough to race to the hospital.  Serena meets me there.  My Dad's catheter bags are filled with blood.  As quickly as they transfuse him with blood, just as quickly it seems to pour out of him. 

His nurse, Annabel, answers our questions.  Another nurse is pushing us to give Dad some morphine to make him more comfortable.  Annabel tells us that morphine will lower his already too-low blood pressure.  We are in a race to get his blood pressure up.  We say no morphine.

We are scared.  Dr. Ibraheem explains how difficult it can be to detect a bleed in the bowel The Radiologist, Dr. Batiste, took his time and tried to find it, to no avail.  It must be a tiny, but, potent bleed.  We ask what can be done as we realize that he is bleeding out and if the bleed is not slowed or staunched, he will die.

Dr. Ibarheem explains to us about vaso-suppressors.  These are strong drugs that will constrict the blood vessels in his legs and feet as the blood is sent to his chest cavity and his blood pressure can stabilize.   As my Dad is diabetic, there is a very real likelihood that the vaso-suppressors will damage the circulation in my Dad's feet.  We are between a rock and hard place with no real alternative but to make the devil's agreement and concentrate on keeping him alive.

Doctors come through and evaluate him.  The Gastro-Intestinal doctor evaluates my Dad.  We step out into the hallway, Dr. Ibarheem, the Gastro doctor, Serena and me.  The Gastro doctor tells us it looks grim.  My Dad is not a candidate for surgery so they can't find the bleed that way.  The Gastro doctor tells us he can do nothing more and walks away and out the door of ICU.  We turn to Dr. Ibarheem.  Without blinking, he calls for a second opinion.  Luckily, we never see that particular GI doctor again.

By now, my mom has arrived.  Serena's husband, Rob, went to pick her up.  She uses one of those small four wheeled carts to help her keep her balance while she walks.  She looks at Dad and the shock registers on her face.  However, she quickly regains her composure and starts to talk to him.

By now Dad has lost 3,000 cc's of blood in one hour and has had 12 units transfused.  Even without medical backgrounds, we realize this is not the norm. 

Within 15 minutes, the other Gastro-Intestinal doctor, Dr. Banich, has arrived.  While he evaluates Dad, we explain the situation to my mom.  If they cannot find the bleed, her husband, of forty-four years, will die.

Dr. Banich comes out and tells us what we already know.  Dad is not a candidate for exploratory surgery.  We ask what else can be done.  He asks if an angiogram has been done.  Dr. Ibarheem explains that two have been done with no luck.  Dr. Banich says "Do another angiogram".  It is our only hope.  Before he leaves, he takes me aside.  He wants to be sure that I understand what an outside chance it is to find the bleed.  I tell him I do but that we have no alternative.  I tell him Dad is one tough hombre.  He agrees and says that he will keep Dad in his prayers.

Dr. Ibarheem makes the call to the two Radiologists that have performed the angiograms.  The first one refuses to do another, quipping "I've been in there, didn't find it, probably won't find it this time".   The second one, Dr. Batiste, agrees to assemble his team and give it another go.

The problem:  it is Saturday so it will take sometime to assemble his team.  We start praying. 

I call Jon and tell him that Dad is dying.  He asks if he should come.  I tell him 'not yet', afraid if I tell him to come, Dad will die.  Jon says that Mary and Arlyn from work are praying for Dad and Arlyn has said a rosary.  I start to cry.  Afterwards, I call a few friends and ask them to pray for Dad.

The vaso-suppressors have helped stabilize his blood pressure and the bleeding has slowed.  Annabel explains to us how difficult it is to try to find a bleeding blood vessel or artery in the bowel.   We wait for them to come from Radiology.  It is the longest afternoon of my life. 

Dr. Ibarheem waits with us, checking Dad's vitals every 15 minutes.  The ICU staff and nurses, even the people in the hallway and in the waiting area are wishing us luck.

Finally about 4:00, they come from Radiology to take Dad downstairs for his last angiogram.  We follow him down, tell him we love him and go to the small, quiet waiting room.  Dr. Batiste comes out and tells us that the test will take some time.  As he did the angiogram the night before, he feels he knows Dad's insides a little better today and says he will do all he can.  We tell him that he is our only hope.

We wait.  An original Star Trek episode comes on.  The one with John Fiedler.  It makes good background noise.  Serena, Rob and I talk, we try to take our minds off what seems like the inevitable.  Through it all, Dad has not given up.  He could have slipped away when so much blood was oozing out of him.  But, as we say, he is one tough hombre.  We pray he will be one again.

An hour passes and we are still waiting, convincing ourselves that this is a good sign though I don't know that we actually believed it at the time.  I turn the channel looking for anything to take my mind off the waiting.  

Suddenly, there is Jack Bauer.  24 is Dad's favorite show.  He got me hooked on it last season (season 5).  Tonight is a rerun of Season 5.  There is psycho President Logan, the great Gregory Itzin and his humane wife, Martha (the wondeful Jean Smart) but most of all, there is Jack.  I take it as a sign that things might not be so bad.  If Jack Bauer is here, surely there is hope.

About 20 minutes later, Dr. Batiste comes out.  He looks tired but he tells us he did find the bleed.  It was a small bleed as everyone suspected and it was only by luck that he found it.  It took 8 coils to cauterize it.  He explains that 8 coils are alot.  We hug him and thank him with tears streaming down our faces.

He says the team will take Dad back upstairs to ICU.  He cautions that Dad has lost a great deal of blood and is not out of the woods by a long stretch.  We go back upstairs.  Dr. Ibarheem is waiting for us.  We hug him and tell him thank you for everything.

I turn the channel to 24.  When they wheel Dad back in from Radiology, there is Jack Bauer on screen.  Jack becomes my talisman and will, in the weeks ahead, prove to be a worthy one. 

By now, Dad is resting comfortably as possible.  We have been at the hospital for almost 12 hours and all of us are exhausted.  We tell him that we love him and that we will see him in the morning.

As I head back to my mom's house, I stop at the light at Jones and W Charleston Blvd.  Our old church, United Methodist has a modern LED/LCD sign.  All it says is "Practise Hope". 

I burst into tears.