Only the Lynch Family - True Story

As most of you know, Dad beat colon cancer twice, once at age 42 and again at 62.  Although he certainly suffered through two surgeries, he was fortunate in having never required radiation or chemo.  Shortly after his last surgery, he endured a painful intestinal blockage which required a few days in the hospital.  Thankfully, he's been good ever since.  His surgeon at New York Presbyterian-Cornell was excellent.  Hold onto this info for a moment, we'll be coming back to it.

I don't care how old you are, if you had a low to moderately dysfunctional upbringing, there's nothing quite as comforting as seeing Mom and Dad come for you when you're not feeling well.  Yesterday morning they paid me a visit, armed with goodies for the staff and puzzle books and a vat of apple juice for me.  Lou had already arrived to my room with fresh clothes and hugs.  As he helped my mom sort through her bags, I noticed my father quietly clutching his side, wearing an expression of discomfort all over his face.  "Dad, why do you look like you're in pain?" I asked.  "It's probably just diverticulitis" he sighed as he took a seat. 

Mom ratted him out. 

"Your father ate peanuts and an apple.  He's trying to kill me.  He can't digest it". 

"Dad, don't play around.  Go get it checked out" I urged him. 

I was soon served my ham, mushroom and cheese omelet with whole wheat toast and tea for breakfast.  Within a few minutes of  eating and talking, Dad's head disappeared into the wastebasket and he was tossing his cookies.  Mom, Lou and I just stared at each other in silence until the stomach churning harfs ended.

"I've been waiting to do that.  I feel better now, I'm OK".  Dad was 9 shades of yellow and clearly in denial.  As Dad started to argue and make machismo excuses in an attempt to avoid the ER, my normally low key, mild mannered husband stood in front of him and gave him two options.  Either Lou would tell the nurses outside my door what just happened - they kind of frown upon vomiting visitors - or they could quietly take a stroll across the street...to New York Presbyterian Hospital where my father had his last colon resection. 

"You don't have a choice Dad" I badgered. 

As I looked into my father's eyes, it was obvious he was replaying the events of his last blockage in his mind.  The tubes, the tests, the pain.  I said the only thing I could, our mantra for each other.  "Lynch buddies for life, yo".  We smiled at each other as he softened, knowing he wouldn't feel better unless he sought medical attention.  My mother, who hasn't slept for 2 months, Lou and my Dad then proceeded to quietly leave Sloan Kettering and walked across the street to New York Presbyterian's emergency room. 

My husband spent the rest of the day crossing the street to check on Dad and me.  When my brother came later in the day, they again played dueling hospitals, jumping from one to another to see how we both were.  I would periodically call NY Presbyterian's ER to inquire about his condition.  When I explained "I'm the patient's daughter and I'm treating across the street at Sloan", one nurse commented "we thought they were joking".  Dad would spend the night in the ER as doctors would get to the bottom of his pain.  It was a blockage in his intestines.  As Dad would relay the story, it wasn't the nuts or the apple that did it.  It was the membrane of an orange he ate - the indigestible film that holds the segments in place - that was the culprit.  I'm still not sure if Mom believes him, but it made sense to me.

By the grace of God, Dad and I were released today and able to go home together.  We both agree this family really needs to learn how to do things on a slightly smaller and less dramatic scale.