I heard the telephone ring and Maggie answer the caller. It was Candi, her flight had arrived in Sydney and she was waiting for her luggage and would someone be coming to get her or should she take a taxi, was her query. Mag and Jeanette volunteered to run back to the airport and pick her up. As I moved through the front room of the house in Bexley North I asked Melissa with only my eyes where I could find her mother. She motioned to Robin's bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at her hands and nowhere at the same time sat Geoff's mother. She looked up at me as I came into the room and communicated wordlessly and simultaneously the pain, shock and horror of the last 2 days. Had I been wondering what was worse, to be 8,000 miles away and only able to deal with the situation remotely and get snatches of stale information or to experience every moment personally, I immediately knew the answer. I sat next to her on the bed and put my arms around her shoulders. At that moment no words were necessary.
I didn't ask any questions. We both repeated our inability to believe that our son was gone, just that quickly. That we had been robbed by an unknown thief. Violated. Tread upon. At one point Robin began to wonder aloud if there was something, anything she could have done or done differently to prevent this from happening or had she done enough. I tried as best I could to convince her that I knew in my heart she had done everything and anything possible on Geoff's behalf, that there was certainly nobody in that house in Bexley North that was responsible for his death.
After a short while I got up from the bedside and went back out into the front room. Robin followed in just a couple of minutes after that. We sat side by side on the sofa. Luke had in his hand a couple of pamphlets that he kept rolling up like a telescope and then nervously unrolling. He looked at Robin and me as he pressed the small booklets forward and stated "They gave me these pamphlets at the coroner's office. There is some good information in here about what we need to do and help that might be available. It might be a good idea if you looked them over." I took the pamphlets from his hand and set them on the coffee table. "There is a list of funeral homes in there. We need to pick one so we can arrange to have them pick up Geoff when the coroner's office releases him". Luke gently suggested. I asked to nobody in particular if they thought the Catholic Church where Geoff and Melissa had been baptized in Kingsgrove might have a suggestion. "I'll get the number for the office" Luke volunteered.
Mag and Jeanette pulled into the driveway with Candi in the car. Melissa and I went out to the front to greet her, inquired about her trip and tried to fill her in on as much of the information as possible in a couple of minutes knowing that Mag and Jeanette had undoubtedly covered the most significant points. Jeanette suggested that we have some lunch and that she would prepare it, make sandwiches for everyone. And, wondered, would anyone like a drink or tea, perhaps a cup of coffee? This was her way of supporting all of us. For the next few hours we nibbled on the sandwiches Jeanette had prepared with Candi and Mag's help, made small talk, sobbed alone and together, greeted the occasional neighbor or friend that dropped in and allowed a steady stream of florists to deposit endless bouquets of flowers sent by well meaning friends and family. I was struck by how quickly the news traveled and how people reacted in the ways they believed were proper.
At one point Luke advised us that he had spoken to the office manager at Our Lady of Fatima in Kingsgrove and they suggested two funeral homes. They indicated their primary recommendation would be W.N. Bull, located in Newtown. The sound of Newtown rang familiar to me. Having no point of reference or prejudice about it Robin and I agreed we would use W.N. Bull and try to get an appointment for the next day to make yet another journey through a process for which we were not prepared.
Jeanette then took me out in the front yard and suggested she could help locate a place for Candi and me to stay while we were in Sydney. Another detail that I had not considered. Robin's house was full with Melissa and she and Mag. I surprised myself in that I had a conscious enough awareness of the situation to suggest that perhaps a "holiday apartment" might be the better choice as compared to a hotel. That way we could have a kitchen and separate bedrooms and perhaps some other conveniences. There are holiday apartments all over Sydney; typically they are individually owned units that have been placed into rental for short term stays, are fully furnished with linens, cutlery, dishes and some of the other comforts of home. Jeanette was employed by a large trucking firm as an Assistant to a Director who traveled extensively. As a result, she had many contacts in the travel industry and volunteered to line an apartment up for us. She also made sure we knew that we coincidentally arrived during a 2 week school holiday period and we could have some challenges lining up a unit close by but she was sure she could arrange something suitable. She picked up her IPhone and began the search. I went back inside the house and resumed my position on the sofa next to Robin. Perhaps every couple of minutes Robin looked into my eyes and non-verbally communicated her thoughts: Why has this happened? What have I done to deserve this?
It was all so beyond belief. In many ways, it still is.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Uncle Luke
When we pulled into the driveway of Mag and Robin's home in Bexley North, Mag noticed a car following right behind. "It's Luke" she informed me that the driver of the blue sedan right behind us was Luke Stanley, Robin and Mag's younger brother. Luke is the de-facto paternal head of the Stanley family. Shirley Stanley, Robin, Luke and Mag's mother, has 2 other children, Michael and Jeanette. Their father, Shirley's husband, died in the early 1980's. Luke assumed those patriarchal responsibilities after the death of his father. Luke with his wife, Anita, and their 2 children and assorted horses, dogs and birds live in another suburb some 45 minutes north of Sydney in a country setting. Although I hadn't seen Luke in years his appearance was remarkably the same, albeit a little thicker (like most of us). Luke made his way toward me and I immediately noticed the anguish on his face. He embraced me like a brother and the two of us stood hugging in the driveway in Bexley North for a few minutes, neither of us wanting to let go of the other as we sobbed together. Luke is one of those people who is imminently likable, somewhat bigger than life and the person you would want to lead the charge if you were called to battle, even if it was in the parking lot of the local pub (maybe especially so). Once the first wave of the raw emotions passed Luke brought me up to the minute with some details I hadn't even considered.
While we were still standing in the front yard at what was now about noon time, Luke told me that Geoff's body was in the New South Wales Coroner's morgue, that the hospital was no longer able to hold him. He also said that he had been told that an autopsy was going to be performed as a matter of law because it had been judged that Geoff had died a sudden death, the cause of which was not yet known. He told me that the Coroner's office would be calling us in the next day, or so, to give us preliminary results of the autopsy and that we needed to make arrangements with a funeral home to pick up Geoff's body from the coroner once the autopsy was completed. He also told me that it was required that a family member was needed to positively identify Geoff at the morgue and that he had already done that. At that, Luke began to cry again. I hadn't stopped.
I was thinking that some of the best times I ever had with Luke was when he was nearly Geoff's age and much like Geoff, he was the type of person nearly everyone loved, a genuinely caring, loving person. How painful it must have been for Luke to take on the responsibility of confirming for all of us that which was known. That Geoff had died, that his body lay in the morgue of the State Coroners office, that there was no mistaking it was really him. Luke told me that it was possible for me to see Geoff's body in the morgue but that the Coroner's office didn't recommend it. He relayed the suggestion from the coroner that I should wait until the funeral home had a chance to pick him up and prepare his body for viewing but that if I insisted and wanted to view Geoff's body before then, Luke would help me arrange it. I agreed I would wait until we had a clearer understanding to the timing of events from this point before I would make that decision. We made our way up the walk to the front door of Robin's home.
Truthfully, I'm not completely sure who all was in the front room when I walked through the doorway. What was obvious were a few vases of flowers spread around the coffee table and on the dining room table. I was immediately aware that Robin was not among the people in the front room. Melissa came from the back of the house, we embraced and told each other how sorry we were. I asked her how long she had been in Sydney, not knowing if it had been some days or hours. She explained that Robin had phoned her after Geoff was admitted to hospital the previous day and that she had rushed to the Canberra airport to make the 1 hour flight to Sydney. She had been at St. George Hospital when I received the initial call right through the time when it made no sense to be there any longer. Joanne (Jo), Geoff's girlfriend, was sitting on an ottoman, her eyes ringed with the red hue of weeping that cannot be halted. Jeanette, Robin's younger sister, was in the kitchen making cups of coffee and tea, which is non-stop in the culture. I said hello to each of them and we all embraced each other in the way we would have hugged Geoff, had he just walked through that door.
While we were still standing in the front yard at what was now about noon time, Luke told me that Geoff's body was in the New South Wales Coroner's morgue, that the hospital was no longer able to hold him. He also said that he had been told that an autopsy was going to be performed as a matter of law because it had been judged that Geoff had died a sudden death, the cause of which was not yet known. He told me that the Coroner's office would be calling us in the next day, or so, to give us preliminary results of the autopsy and that we needed to make arrangements with a funeral home to pick up Geoff's body from the coroner once the autopsy was completed. He also told me that it was required that a family member was needed to positively identify Geoff at the morgue and that he had already done that. At that, Luke began to cry again. I hadn't stopped.
I was thinking that some of the best times I ever had with Luke was when he was nearly Geoff's age and much like Geoff, he was the type of person nearly everyone loved, a genuinely caring, loving person. How painful it must have been for Luke to take on the responsibility of confirming for all of us that which was known. That Geoff had died, that his body lay in the morgue of the State Coroners office, that there was no mistaking it was really him. Luke told me that it was possible for me to see Geoff's body in the morgue but that the Coroner's office didn't recommend it. He relayed the suggestion from the coroner that I should wait until the funeral home had a chance to pick him up and prepare his body for viewing but that if I insisted and wanted to view Geoff's body before then, Luke would help me arrange it. I agreed I would wait until we had a clearer understanding to the timing of events from this point before I would make that decision. We made our way up the walk to the front door of Robin's home.
Truthfully, I'm not completely sure who all was in the front room when I walked through the doorway. What was obvious were a few vases of flowers spread around the coffee table and on the dining room table. I was immediately aware that Robin was not among the people in the front room. Melissa came from the back of the house, we embraced and told each other how sorry we were. I asked her how long she had been in Sydney, not knowing if it had been some days or hours. She explained that Robin had phoned her after Geoff was admitted to hospital the previous day and that she had rushed to the Canberra airport to make the 1 hour flight to Sydney. She had been at St. George Hospital when I received the initial call right through the time when it made no sense to be there any longer. Joanne (Jo), Geoff's girlfriend, was sitting on an ottoman, her eyes ringed with the red hue of weeping that cannot be halted. Jeanette, Robin's younger sister, was in the kitchen making cups of coffee and tea, which is non-stop in the culture. I said hello to each of them and we all embraced each other in the way we would have hugged Geoff, had he just walked through that door.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
To Bexley North
Mag and I exited the parking area of the Kingston Heath Airport and headed to the East Sydney Suburb of Bexley North where she and Robin lived with Geoff. Traffic can be unpredictable and quite heavy at times in and around the airport area but on this particular day it was relatively light. The weather was cool, overcast with a hint of rain showers now and again. We sat in the car in silence until we exited the airport proper and headed toward the freeway for our 30 minute ride to Bexley North. Understanding that the Aussies drive on the left side of the road in the right front seat, I had taken my place in the front passenger seat on the left side which all by itself creates some disorientation. I found myself constantly stepping on the phantom brake. The combination of the jet lag, lack of sleep, stress from the events of the past 24 hours and the backwards flow of traffic made for a surreal experience. Doing my best to concentrate on what Maggie was telling me and having to call upon my best interpretive skills (although the Aussies speak English, it takes some getting used to for us Yanks) I was listening intently to Mag's description of what had transpired over the last few days.
What I had as background information, in addition to what I have already shared previously, I had known that since the middle of September, Geoff was complaining that he was suffering from tonsillitis and a general feeling of being unwell. The outline that I received from Mag on that trip to Bexley North provided the following new information. On Wednesday, September 29 Geoff and Robin visited a medical clinic at the direction of the hematologist who was responsible for his care since he had first been diagnosed with Hodgkin Lymphoma in 2007. They performed a blood test and after spending some time discussing symptoms and reviewing the results of that test ordered a PET CT scan for the next day. They returned to the clinic the following day and Geoff had a second blood test along with the PET CT. The conclusion drawn by the doctor after reviewing the results of the various tests was that Geoff was suffering from "Glandular Fever", which in America we refer to as Infectious Mononucleosis (IM). I've done a bit of research on my own as to the treatment typically prescribed for mononucleosis and found that aside from bed rest and routine increased fluid intake recommendation IM does not respond well to other therapies, such as antibiotics, since it is viral in nature. It is directly linked to the Epstein Barr Virus (EBV). Most healthy young adults (the typical person infected is in their late teens to early 20's) would have a general lack of energy and strength, perhaps for some months, but would eventually fully recover. Sometimes glandular fever/IM is referred to as the "kissing disease" since it is highly transmittable and seems to affect college aged persons most often. The doctor seemed to think that would be the path Geoff would be taking for the next few months.
Geoff returned home and was in and out of bed for the next couple of days. On the Saturday evening (October 2) he had started to hallucinate and was running a high fever. The paramedics were called and when they arrived and began to administer to Geoff he tested out satisfactorily for blood pressure, respiration and his temperature had dropped somewhat. He was no longer hallucinating. Upon questioning by the ambulance personnel he assured them he was feeling better (something he had also told his doctor the day before when the doctor rang the house to see how Geoff was doing), declined a trip to hospital and the emergency personnel left after giving Robin a written recommendation to give him Panadol (Aussie Tylenol) and to take his temperature regularly. He seemed to remain about the same for the next few days, having his good moments and some not so good but he spent most of the next few days in bed, taking in fluids and the requisite Panadol. He had been staying in Robin's room, in her bed, as she had swapped with Geoff while he was sick. He spent one evening in the front room of their home, watching the National Rugby League Grand Final (along with over 2 million other Australians) on television before heading back to bed.
Early in the morning of Wednesday, October 6 Robin was awakened as she had heard Geoff get out of bed and she went to get the Panadol and thermometer. She then went to the bedroom and found that Geoff had collapsed. She was unable to arouse him and grabbed the phone to call Triple 0 (the equivalent of 911). In the meantime, Mag exited her bedroom to assist. The operator from Triple 0 told Robin and Mag to check for vital signs. They could find no pulse and he didn't seem to be breathing. The operator instructed Robin and Mag to begin CPR and await the arrival of the ambulance that was now on its way.
Listening to Mag tell me about this period of time was taking my breath away. I've had CPR training, even renewed it once, but I'm not convinced that I would know what to do if presented with this challenge, surely not with my son's life in my hands. I cannot imagine the feelings and the fear I would be experiencing had I been in that situation. I only know that Robin and Mag did the best they could do to save Geoff's life, had it been possible. Continuing the CPR until the paramedics arrived must have seemed like an eternity and then apparently the paramedics admonished the ladies to continue even after their arrival as they were busy setting up their equipment and supplies. I heard also that the next door neighbor came over upon hearing the commotion to help as best he could and ultimately Geoff was transported to hospital. To this moment, the visual image that I have of our son in his mother's arms during this process is gut wrenching. No person on the face of the earth would have fought harder for her son's life than Robin did. Of that I am completely sure.
Of course, we know now that once Geoff arrived at St. George Hospital in Kogarah they provided heart, lung and oxygen support and performed the 2 surgeries after a battery of diagnostic testing. I'm sure the hospital personnel felt that in spite of the fact Geoff had no heartbeat for as long as 50 minutes it was at least possible to recover some type of life for him and then again, maybe they didn't really believe it, although they certainly tried. I know that Geoff was officially pronounced as dead some time after that conference call that I was involved in while in the car, sitting in the Chevron station parking lot in Calimesa. However, there is no doubt in my mind that Geoffrey died very early in the morning in Bexley North. My mind was roiling with incongruous thoughts. I felt so badly for Mag, for Robin, for myself and everyone who loved Geoff. I believe he probably died before the call was made to triple 0 but how do you convince an inconsolable mother of that? How do you help a woman that gave her son limitless love and support understand there was nothing else she could have done to keep this tragic event from happening? What do we do now?
What I had as background information, in addition to what I have already shared previously, I had known that since the middle of September, Geoff was complaining that he was suffering from tonsillitis and a general feeling of being unwell. The outline that I received from Mag on that trip to Bexley North provided the following new information. On Wednesday, September 29 Geoff and Robin visited a medical clinic at the direction of the hematologist who was responsible for his care since he had first been diagnosed with Hodgkin Lymphoma in 2007. They performed a blood test and after spending some time discussing symptoms and reviewing the results of that test ordered a PET CT scan for the next day. They returned to the clinic the following day and Geoff had a second blood test along with the PET CT. The conclusion drawn by the doctor after reviewing the results of the various tests was that Geoff was suffering from "Glandular Fever", which in America we refer to as Infectious Mononucleosis (IM). I've done a bit of research on my own as to the treatment typically prescribed for mononucleosis and found that aside from bed rest and routine increased fluid intake recommendation IM does not respond well to other therapies, such as antibiotics, since it is viral in nature. It is directly linked to the Epstein Barr Virus (EBV). Most healthy young adults (the typical person infected is in their late teens to early 20's) would have a general lack of energy and strength, perhaps for some months, but would eventually fully recover. Sometimes glandular fever/IM is referred to as the "kissing disease" since it is highly transmittable and seems to affect college aged persons most often. The doctor seemed to think that would be the path Geoff would be taking for the next few months.
Geoff returned home and was in and out of bed for the next couple of days. On the Saturday evening (October 2) he had started to hallucinate and was running a high fever. The paramedics were called and when they arrived and began to administer to Geoff he tested out satisfactorily for blood pressure, respiration and his temperature had dropped somewhat. He was no longer hallucinating. Upon questioning by the ambulance personnel he assured them he was feeling better (something he had also told his doctor the day before when the doctor rang the house to see how Geoff was doing), declined a trip to hospital and the emergency personnel left after giving Robin a written recommendation to give him Panadol (Aussie Tylenol) and to take his temperature regularly. He seemed to remain about the same for the next few days, having his good moments and some not so good but he spent most of the next few days in bed, taking in fluids and the requisite Panadol. He had been staying in Robin's room, in her bed, as she had swapped with Geoff while he was sick. He spent one evening in the front room of their home, watching the National Rugby League Grand Final (along with over 2 million other Australians) on television before heading back to bed.
Early in the morning of Wednesday, October 6 Robin was awakened as she had heard Geoff get out of bed and she went to get the Panadol and thermometer. She then went to the bedroom and found that Geoff had collapsed. She was unable to arouse him and grabbed the phone to call Triple 0 (the equivalent of 911). In the meantime, Mag exited her bedroom to assist. The operator from Triple 0 told Robin and Mag to check for vital signs. They could find no pulse and he didn't seem to be breathing. The operator instructed Robin and Mag to begin CPR and await the arrival of the ambulance that was now on its way.
Listening to Mag tell me about this period of time was taking my breath away. I've had CPR training, even renewed it once, but I'm not convinced that I would know what to do if presented with this challenge, surely not with my son's life in my hands. I cannot imagine the feelings and the fear I would be experiencing had I been in that situation. I only know that Robin and Mag did the best they could do to save Geoff's life, had it been possible. Continuing the CPR until the paramedics arrived must have seemed like an eternity and then apparently the paramedics admonished the ladies to continue even after their arrival as they were busy setting up their equipment and supplies. I heard also that the next door neighbor came over upon hearing the commotion to help as best he could and ultimately Geoff was transported to hospital. To this moment, the visual image that I have of our son in his mother's arms during this process is gut wrenching. No person on the face of the earth would have fought harder for her son's life than Robin did. Of that I am completely sure.
Of course, we know now that once Geoff arrived at St. George Hospital in Kogarah they provided heart, lung and oxygen support and performed the 2 surgeries after a battery of diagnostic testing. I'm sure the hospital personnel felt that in spite of the fact Geoff had no heartbeat for as long as 50 minutes it was at least possible to recover some type of life for him and then again, maybe they didn't really believe it, although they certainly tried. I know that Geoff was officially pronounced as dead some time after that conference call that I was involved in while in the car, sitting in the Chevron station parking lot in Calimesa. However, there is no doubt in my mind that Geoffrey died very early in the morning in Bexley North. My mind was roiling with incongruous thoughts. I felt so badly for Mag, for Robin, for myself and everyone who loved Geoff. I believe he probably died before the call was made to triple 0 but how do you convince an inconsolable mother of that? How do you help a woman that gave her son limitless love and support understand there was nothing else she could have done to keep this tragic event from happening? What do we do now?
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Auntie Mag
When the 500 plus passengers began shuffling toward the exits of the 747 jumbo jet I realized I would be one of the last folks off the plane due to my assigned seat in the rear. In reality, the disembarkation was relatively smooth and speedy, probably because most on the plane were anxious to get to wherever it was they were going. Knowing that screening through Australian immigration and then customs officers lay ahead I figured there was no point in rushing to get into one lineup and then another. I passed through immigration with hardly a glance by the officer after standing on line for what seemed an interminable amount of time trying to dodge the coughs and sneezes of the folks that had been breathing the stale air of a flying bus for too long a time. Then, it was on to another seemingly endless parade behind what looked to me like thousands of people with more than their fair share of luggage, stacked to the limits of the little silver carts provided by the airport for just this purpose. I saw my opportunity when a security person opened a new pathway to the customs officers and with just my rolling suitcase and carryon I was able to outmaneuver most of the waiting throng. In only a few minutes, I was selected by one of the customs officers to approach area "B" for my review. This area of the customs examination room had the shortest line by 90% and most in the staging line had a limited amount of baggage much like myself. They took us 8 at a time and had us stand behind our luggage in single file, shoulder to shoulder. A female customs officer with a beagle on a generous leash then made a relatively quick pass with the canine freely climbing over and around all the aligned bags. The customs officer quickly ascertained that nothing of interest to the dog was among any of our belongings so they ushered us into what I quickly recognized was the public lobby for meeting incoming international passengers. I'd been here many time before.
As I scanned the crowd for a familiar face I recognized Marguerite Stanley (Mag), Robin's sister, staring pensively at the crowd. Our glances merged and we started moving toward each other. When we were close enough to touch she started to speak so quickly in her thick Aussie accent that I couldn't make out the words. I grabbed her shoulders and looked into her eyes "I know" I said with conviction and relieved her of the responsibility to utter words that any human being should never have to say to a father about his son. She started to sob and grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the car park. "We're going to Rob's; everyone is there; Luke is on his way; Vicky and Tina are coming later" were among the rat tat tat statements in her stream of consciousness communication. She then became a little disoriented in the car park as she was trying to explain the events of the last days and I finally suggested that we find the car and get out of the airport before we discuss any more details. She agreed but not before uttering "Robin is so frightened that you are going to be angry with her". Why would she think I would be angry with her? She was the mother any son would have dreamed of having. She only wanted and did the best for her 2 children without the day to day support of a husband for the last 15 years. She guarded her children like a lioness would her pride. Robin would have gone to hell and back for those children.
"She's worried that maybe you'll think she didn't do enough; that there were other things she could have done". For the first time since I received the call that triggered these events for me I felt overwhelmed by the raw emotion of it all. Until that moment I had been a man on a mission but now that I had arrived at my destination I realized there was no battle to fight, no game to win, no enemy to defeat. Of course, I told Mag that it was crazy for Robin to feel that way; that I would never think that of her. Then Mag began to fill me in on the details of what took place in Geoff's last days.
As I scanned the crowd for a familiar face I recognized Marguerite Stanley (Mag), Robin's sister, staring pensively at the crowd. Our glances merged and we started moving toward each other. When we were close enough to touch she started to speak so quickly in her thick Aussie accent that I couldn't make out the words. I grabbed her shoulders and looked into her eyes "I know" I said with conviction and relieved her of the responsibility to utter words that any human being should never have to say to a father about his son. She started to sob and grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the car park. "We're going to Rob's; everyone is there; Luke is on his way; Vicky and Tina are coming later" were among the rat tat tat statements in her stream of consciousness communication. She then became a little disoriented in the car park as she was trying to explain the events of the last days and I finally suggested that we find the car and get out of the airport before we discuss any more details. She agreed but not before uttering "Robin is so frightened that you are going to be angry with her". Why would she think I would be angry with her? She was the mother any son would have dreamed of having. She only wanted and did the best for her 2 children without the day to day support of a husband for the last 15 years. She guarded her children like a lioness would her pride. Robin would have gone to hell and back for those children.
"She's worried that maybe you'll think she didn't do enough; that there were other things she could have done". For the first time since I received the call that triggered these events for me I felt overwhelmed by the raw emotion of it all. Until that moment I had been a man on a mission but now that I had arrived at my destination I realized there was no battle to fight, no game to win, no enemy to defeat. Of course, I told Mag that it was crazy for Robin to feel that way; that I would never think that of her. Then Mag began to fill me in on the details of what took place in Geoff's last days.
Monday, November 15, 2010
LAX to SYD
QANTAS airlines stands for Queensland And Northern Territories Aerial Service. Go figure; based in Sydney, New South Wales which is not in either the Northern Territories or Queensland. In any case, my opinion: There is not a better airline in the world based on my past and most recent experiences.
I literally had the last seat, in the last row on the 747 but I would arrive at my destination at just the same time as my fellow 500 plus passengers. There were at least 6 stand-by hopefuls for the flight that did not get seated. Whatever strings the compassionate customer service representative pulled to get me on that flight I suppose I will never know but my gratitude runs deep. At that, I was lucky enough to get an aisle seat and unlucky enough to be directly in front of 3 toilets in the absolute aft section of the plane. Lucky enough to have some standing room next to my seat (when it wasn't occupied by a toe tapping fellow passenger that mis-timed how badly he needed to use the facilities). Lucky enough to have as my only seatmate a young asian man, who spoke no English, that somehow slept the entire 15 plus hours. They must make some interesting pharmaceutical products in the far east that aren't available in the United States is all I could figure. But his drowsiness relieved me of the responsibility to try to communicate through body language and eye contact with him and save for the occasional resting of his head on my shoulder it was a tolerable enough experience.
There is always a fair amount of commotion at the beginning of the trip from LAX to SYD. I checked my phone one last time to see if there was any word from St. George's or anyone else for that matter but the display told me otherwise. At the last possible moment I "Call Forwarded" the telephone number to my business partner, Art Alvarez, and then switched off the phone. The smart phone is a first generation "Droid" and does not contain the chip that would be required to be able use it overseas. I wasn't quite sure what I was going to do for telecommunication once I arrived but it was simply the least of my concerns at that time. I've been told that the flight from LAX to SYD is the longest over water flight anywhere in the world. It wouldn't have mattered in any event, it was pitch black outside. As soon as we leveled off after takeoff one of the many flight attendants came around distributing headsets and menus. Because a 15 plus hour plane ride is incredibly boring under normal conditions the airlines create an agenda that tries to influence everyone's behavior so as to allow those that can or want to get some sleep during the middle part of the flight. There is essentially a 2 hour open bar period as soon as the seatbelt sign is turned off (in theory you could drink for free the entire flight but I believe 90% of the alcohol that is consumed on one of these flights takes place during the first couple of hours). This is followed by a dinner service (Beef or Fish?) and then the distribution of a "snack bag" designed to keep you from ringing the CALL button during the middle of the flight due to the hunger that seems to strike most of us when we are bored to tears. Every passenger has a personal entertainment system with an LCD screen in the seat back in front and a controller in the armrest. Every kind of music, game, movie or television show is available to each of the passengers upon their own selection. If you can't sleep, you can see as many almost first run movies as the time will allow, as long as you are comfortable watching them on a 6" screen. After dinner, the lights are turned off and the travelers are left to their pleasure, whether entertaining themselves with the electronic gismo or attempting to sleep. About 3 hours before the plane is scheduled to land the lights are turned back on, a breakfast service ensues (hot or cold?) and a steady stream of humanity accesses the "facilities".
Other than to respond to the various interrogatories from flight attendants about my preferred choices during the various food and beverage services I didn't speak to a soul during the entire flight. I might have dozed a a couple of different times for no more than a few minutes each. I tried to watch "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" which seemed easier due to the English subtitles and dialogue in Swedish than attempting to listen to a standard dialogue. Mostly, I had swirled the information from the 7 hours before I boarded the flight around in my brain at least one thousand times and I came to some conclusions: My 26 year old son, Geoffrey John Loe, had died. No body could say for sure but it seems like he had some type of cardiac arrest from an as yet unknown cause. I wasn't sure where is body was or what needed to be done from this point as I have never had to deal with this kind of situation. There were going to be some incredibly sad and upset people in Sydney, in California and in Texas when the facts became known. I was never going to see my son again, never, ever. How could that possibly be true?
Folks were still milling around the aircraft, waiting their turn for the limited toilets and stowing their personal articles that he been removed from the carry on bags when one of the flight attendants came on the loudspeaker. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the captain has turned on the fasten seat belt signal indicating our approach to Sydney's Kingston Heath Airport where the local time is 9:52 a.m. Australian Eastern Standard Time, Thursday, 7 October." One of the incredibly ironic things about this journey: When I left Los Angeles it was October 5, passing the international dateline en route to Sydney made the current date October 7. My son died on October 6.
I literally had the last seat, in the last row on the 747 but I would arrive at my destination at just the same time as my fellow 500 plus passengers. There were at least 6 stand-by hopefuls for the flight that did not get seated. Whatever strings the compassionate customer service representative pulled to get me on that flight I suppose I will never know but my gratitude runs deep. At that, I was lucky enough to get an aisle seat and unlucky enough to be directly in front of 3 toilets in the absolute aft section of the plane. Lucky enough to have some standing room next to my seat (when it wasn't occupied by a toe tapping fellow passenger that mis-timed how badly he needed to use the facilities). Lucky enough to have as my only seatmate a young asian man, who spoke no English, that somehow slept the entire 15 plus hours. They must make some interesting pharmaceutical products in the far east that aren't available in the United States is all I could figure. But his drowsiness relieved me of the responsibility to try to communicate through body language and eye contact with him and save for the occasional resting of his head on my shoulder it was a tolerable enough experience.
There is always a fair amount of commotion at the beginning of the trip from LAX to SYD. I checked my phone one last time to see if there was any word from St. George's or anyone else for that matter but the display told me otherwise. At the last possible moment I "Call Forwarded" the telephone number to my business partner, Art Alvarez, and then switched off the phone. The smart phone is a first generation "Droid" and does not contain the chip that would be required to be able use it overseas. I wasn't quite sure what I was going to do for telecommunication once I arrived but it was simply the least of my concerns at that time. I've been told that the flight from LAX to SYD is the longest over water flight anywhere in the world. It wouldn't have mattered in any event, it was pitch black outside. As soon as we leveled off after takeoff one of the many flight attendants came around distributing headsets and menus. Because a 15 plus hour plane ride is incredibly boring under normal conditions the airlines create an agenda that tries to influence everyone's behavior so as to allow those that can or want to get some sleep during the middle part of the flight. There is essentially a 2 hour open bar period as soon as the seatbelt sign is turned off (in theory you could drink for free the entire flight but I believe 90% of the alcohol that is consumed on one of these flights takes place during the first couple of hours). This is followed by a dinner service (Beef or Fish?) and then the distribution of a "snack bag" designed to keep you from ringing the CALL button during the middle of the flight due to the hunger that seems to strike most of us when we are bored to tears. Every passenger has a personal entertainment system with an LCD screen in the seat back in front and a controller in the armrest. Every kind of music, game, movie or television show is available to each of the passengers upon their own selection. If you can't sleep, you can see as many almost first run movies as the time will allow, as long as you are comfortable watching them on a 6" screen. After dinner, the lights are turned off and the travelers are left to their pleasure, whether entertaining themselves with the electronic gismo or attempting to sleep. About 3 hours before the plane is scheduled to land the lights are turned back on, a breakfast service ensues (hot or cold?) and a steady stream of humanity accesses the "facilities".
Other than to respond to the various interrogatories from flight attendants about my preferred choices during the various food and beverage services I didn't speak to a soul during the entire flight. I might have dozed a a couple of different times for no more than a few minutes each. I tried to watch "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" which seemed easier due to the English subtitles and dialogue in Swedish than attempting to listen to a standard dialogue. Mostly, I had swirled the information from the 7 hours before I boarded the flight around in my brain at least one thousand times and I came to some conclusions: My 26 year old son, Geoffrey John Loe, had died. No body could say for sure but it seems like he had some type of cardiac arrest from an as yet unknown cause. I wasn't sure where is body was or what needed to be done from this point as I have never had to deal with this kind of situation. There were going to be some incredibly sad and upset people in Sydney, in California and in Texas when the facts became known. I was never going to see my son again, never, ever. How could that possibly be true?
Folks were still milling around the aircraft, waiting their turn for the limited toilets and stowing their personal articles that he been removed from the carry on bags when one of the flight attendants came on the loudspeaker. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the captain has turned on the fasten seat belt signal indicating our approach to Sydney's Kingston Heath Airport where the local time is 9:52 a.m. Australian Eastern Standard Time, Thursday, 7 October." One of the incredibly ironic things about this journey: When I left Los Angeles it was October 5, passing the international dateline en route to Sydney made the current date October 7. My son died on October 6.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
The Young Man
Arriving at LAX with all the questions, worries and feelings that a father would have, I tossed my bag onto the sidewalk and hugged my wife goodbye. In this day and age of airport security the insular bon voyage adds insult to the injuries of 9/11/2001. How I would have loved for Mitzi to be able to accompany me to the gate. I would have given anything to have her reassuring grip on my hand and her unwavering support for whatever it is I choose to do at any given moment. Bad enough she had to stay behind in California to tend to our business and leave me to deal with what was awaiting. How hard it must have been for Mitzi to see her husband off at the Tom Bradley International Terminal on an 8000 mile flight that was not even a consideration a few hours earlier. Flying half way around the world to hear first hand what I already knew, to deal with a situation I had never dreamed about, seemed counter intuitive. Mitzi and I talk regularly about losing our parents and other older family members. We worry about how we are going to deal with the sadness, the loss and the pain. Mitzi's children, Tommy and Katie Powell, lost a half-sister earlier this year on the 15 Freeway in Corona, California to a reckless driver at 7 o'clock in the morning. Hit her from behind at 77 MPH with no apparent attempt to brake. The authorities have never been able to tell us: Was he texting? Did he fall asleep? Was alcohol or drugs involved? All are thankful that her 2 young children were not in the car as they normally would have been on a Friday morning. And again, that ridiculous term "lost" creeps into the vocabulary. They didn't lose Holly, either, she was stolen away. Still, we never thought about having one of our own biological children snatched from our reality so quickly and finally. Lightning never strikes twice in the same place. Does it?
It was not without trepidation that I approached the customer service representative at the Qantas check in counter. After all, I was told I had secured a seat on a flight to Sydney that would normally be over-booked within a couple of hours of the flight time. That my visa had been arranged, a process that normally takes a few days. That all I had to do was show up at the check in counter and all would be in order. One doesn't get to be 57 years old without a firm basis in "promises that are not kept" by faceless folks on the telephone. "Good evening Mr. Loe. You are traveling with us to Sydney tonight? I see you have one bag to check" was uttered by the customer service representative. I could not have been happier if she had said "I see you have the winning ticket to the Powerball lottery".
Now I had 2 hours before my flight was scheduled to depart. I decided to make my way through security and head to the gate so as to eliminate any potential delays in that process. I found the beginning of the quarter mile long line of folks waiting for scrutiny by the TSA (at least it seemed that long). Being in the international terminal there was a conglomeration of business travelers, families, young people heading out for adventure and hardly any of them looked like my neighbors in the Palm Springs area. Hundreds of lips were moving and the cacophony was hard to ignore but I heard very few words that I recognized as English while standing in the queue. No sooner had I strategically placed my carry on bag on the ground in front of me so as to be able to push it along with my foot while waiting for the serpentine mass of humanity to move along, my mobile phone alerted me of an incoming call. It was Shawn letting me know that Candi was at the terminal. Of course I could have used some company about now but discovered while speaking with Shawn that V Australia uses a nearby terminal that has been set up for international overflow and there was no access from the Bradley International Terminal. I knew that I was going to have to make the longest, loneliest plane ride of my life alone. At least, I had thought, I could have spent the remaining time before the flight with a familiar face but that was not to be.
There was a small bar/restaurant next to the Qantas gate that was in service for my trip to Sydney. Given the events over the last several hours I figured I could use a drink. Before I entered the bar I sent Mag a text: "At LAX now, leaving soon. Candi is coming too but not with me. Arrives later tomorrow via Melbourne. Any update for me? I appreciate everything you have done". I then entered the bar area and found it was standing room only. I ordered a double Stoly rocks and watched a couple of Japanese businessmen order probably the only thing they knew how in English "Budweiser" as they presented their wad of American currency for the barkeep to take what he needed. The bartender was an honest enough sort in that he only removed enough cash from the bankrolls to cover the tab. Tipping was as seemingly foreign to these two gentlemen as the Budweiser and although the bartender had the opportunity and probably the foresight to understand there would be no gratuity he returned the exact change. They grinned when the bartender handed them their open bottles of beer, grabbed every cent of their change, bowed and exited the bar area.
Over my shoulder I saw a bistro table with 2 chairs. One was empty, the other was supporting a lanky college age young man tapping away at his smartphone and nursing a beverage of some kind. I made eye contact with him in a way that my silent request for a place to sit was answered by his clearing of his personal belongings to one side of the table and motioning to the chair on the other. I brought my $13 drink over ($15 after the $2 tip), thanked him for his consideration and engaged him in conversation. I learned that he had recently taken the California bar exam, was a relatively recent graduate of Hastings, was employed by a well known San Francisco based law firm and was on his way to the Far East for one last fling before settling down to a lifetime of meetings, pleadings, court appearances and commuting. He was 25 years old, articulate and congenial. If I got his name I don't remember it. After my debriefing of him he looked me in the eye and asked me where I was headed. "My 26 year old son died today in Sydney" were the words that came out of my mouth. I surprised myself. Although I knew I didn't really know and the finality of the statement took my own breath away. "He was a lot like you; not in physical appearance but that he had his whole life in front of him, seemed to know what he wanted, intelligent, engaging, had a certain ease around people. They say he had heart failure but I don't really know." I half expected the young man to excuse himself after my statement but he looked me right in the eye and said "I'm sorry. I have some time. We can sit here and talk about anything you would like". We did, for the next 40 minutes and then he was summoned to board his flight. I bade him farewell with the compulsory statement to "enjoy your life". I then was left to my own thoughts. Did Geoff really die? Was I somehow jumping to conclusions? Is there a chance they can fix whatever it is that is wrong with him? Why did I tell this guy he had died when I don't really know myself? If he was alive, what kind of life would he have? They said his heart had stopped for as long as 50 minutes. Why do they keep saying he is "very sick"? Surely nobody could have much of a life after that kind of trauma. My thoughts were interrupted by a sound over the loudspeaker "QANTAS Flight 108 with service to Sydney, Australia is now ready for passenger boarding at gate 104. All passengers with confirmed reservations should now approach the boarding area". I grabbed my carry on, swallowed the last of my drink and made my way to gate. I checked my smart phone. No messages.
It was not without trepidation that I approached the customer service representative at the Qantas check in counter. After all, I was told I had secured a seat on a flight to Sydney that would normally be over-booked within a couple of hours of the flight time. That my visa had been arranged, a process that normally takes a few days. That all I had to do was show up at the check in counter and all would be in order. One doesn't get to be 57 years old without a firm basis in "promises that are not kept" by faceless folks on the telephone. "Good evening Mr. Loe. You are traveling with us to Sydney tonight? I see you have one bag to check" was uttered by the customer service representative. I could not have been happier if she had said "I see you have the winning ticket to the Powerball lottery".
Now I had 2 hours before my flight was scheduled to depart. I decided to make my way through security and head to the gate so as to eliminate any potential delays in that process. I found the beginning of the quarter mile long line of folks waiting for scrutiny by the TSA (at least it seemed that long). Being in the international terminal there was a conglomeration of business travelers, families, young people heading out for adventure and hardly any of them looked like my neighbors in the Palm Springs area. Hundreds of lips were moving and the cacophony was hard to ignore but I heard very few words that I recognized as English while standing in the queue. No sooner had I strategically placed my carry on bag on the ground in front of me so as to be able to push it along with my foot while waiting for the serpentine mass of humanity to move along, my mobile phone alerted me of an incoming call. It was Shawn letting me know that Candi was at the terminal. Of course I could have used some company about now but discovered while speaking with Shawn that V Australia uses a nearby terminal that has been set up for international overflow and there was no access from the Bradley International Terminal. I knew that I was going to have to make the longest, loneliest plane ride of my life alone. At least, I had thought, I could have spent the remaining time before the flight with a familiar face but that was not to be.
There was a small bar/restaurant next to the Qantas gate that was in service for my trip to Sydney. Given the events over the last several hours I figured I could use a drink. Before I entered the bar I sent Mag a text: "At LAX now, leaving soon. Candi is coming too but not with me. Arrives later tomorrow via Melbourne. Any update for me? I appreciate everything you have done". I then entered the bar area and found it was standing room only. I ordered a double Stoly rocks and watched a couple of Japanese businessmen order probably the only thing they knew how in English "Budweiser" as they presented their wad of American currency for the barkeep to take what he needed. The bartender was an honest enough sort in that he only removed enough cash from the bankrolls to cover the tab. Tipping was as seemingly foreign to these two gentlemen as the Budweiser and although the bartender had the opportunity and probably the foresight to understand there would be no gratuity he returned the exact change. They grinned when the bartender handed them their open bottles of beer, grabbed every cent of their change, bowed and exited the bar area.
Over my shoulder I saw a bistro table with 2 chairs. One was empty, the other was supporting a lanky college age young man tapping away at his smartphone and nursing a beverage of some kind. I made eye contact with him in a way that my silent request for a place to sit was answered by his clearing of his personal belongings to one side of the table and motioning to the chair on the other. I brought my $13 drink over ($15 after the $2 tip), thanked him for his consideration and engaged him in conversation. I learned that he had recently taken the California bar exam, was a relatively recent graduate of Hastings, was employed by a well known San Francisco based law firm and was on his way to the Far East for one last fling before settling down to a lifetime of meetings, pleadings, court appearances and commuting. He was 25 years old, articulate and congenial. If I got his name I don't remember it. After my debriefing of him he looked me in the eye and asked me where I was headed. "My 26 year old son died today in Sydney" were the words that came out of my mouth. I surprised myself. Although I knew I didn't really know and the finality of the statement took my own breath away. "He was a lot like you; not in physical appearance but that he had his whole life in front of him, seemed to know what he wanted, intelligent, engaging, had a certain ease around people. They say he had heart failure but I don't really know." I half expected the young man to excuse himself after my statement but he looked me right in the eye and said "I'm sorry. I have some time. We can sit here and talk about anything you would like". We did, for the next 40 minutes and then he was summoned to board his flight. I bade him farewell with the compulsory statement to "enjoy your life". I then was left to my own thoughts. Did Geoff really die? Was I somehow jumping to conclusions? Is there a chance they can fix whatever it is that is wrong with him? Why did I tell this guy he had died when I don't really know myself? If he was alive, what kind of life would he have? They said his heart had stopped for as long as 50 minutes. Why do they keep saying he is "very sick"? Surely nobody could have much of a life after that kind of trauma. My thoughts were interrupted by a sound over the loudspeaker "QANTAS Flight 108 with service to Sydney, Australia is now ready for passenger boarding at gate 104. All passengers with confirmed reservations should now approach the boarding area". I grabbed my carry on, swallowed the last of my drink and made my way to gate. I checked my smart phone. No messages.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
The trip to LAX
Knowing that a conference call was to occur sometime in the next couple of hours I had Mitzi drive to Los Angeles International Airport (LAX). Interstate 10 from Palm Springs occupies the first hour and fifteen minutes of the trip. No sooner were we in the car I received a phone call from my son-in-law, Shawn Duke, a sergeant in the LAPD and Candi's husband. He told me he had heard from Candi and that she was going to try to get a flight to Sydney that night as well. I tried to talk him out of it; tried to convince him that they should wait until I had additional information. He reminded me how strong willed my daughter was, how determined she seemed to be about this and essentially told me there was no way to stop her. In fact, she was already driving from her home in Ladera Ranch to LAX and was depending on Shawn to get her a ticket on any flight out that night. He wished me luck and asked me to phone him once I was at the airport.
I then received a text message from Mag letting me know that the conference call was going to be taking place in the next 45 minutes. Knowing I had some time I phoned my 79 year old mother in Wimberley, Texas to let her know what I knew, which wasn't very much. I also heard from Shawn again, notifying me that he had found Candi a seat on a flight on V Australia Airlines that was leaving LAX close to the same time as my Qantas flight but she had to be routed through Melbourne and would arrive in Sydney about 4 hours after my flight.
Just as we passed Beaumont on the I-10 my mobile phone rang. I found that I was connected to a speaker phone in a conference room at St. George's and that there were quite a few voices in the background. The combination of the mobile phone that I had and the speaker phone on the other end made for significant difficulty in hearing what was being said. The speaker was a critical care physician from St. George's and she identified the others in the room as another physician, a surgeon, a social worker, Robin, Melissa, Mag and Joanne (Jo), Geoff's girlfriend of the last 3 years. She began the conversation by telling me that my son was "very sick". My mind was spinning at light speed: Why was there a social worker on the call? It had only been about an hour since I heard that Geoff was being taken in to surgery so why was he out so soon? Why was it so difficult to hear these people? Why do they keep saying that my son is very sick?
I had to beg the caller to wait for me to pull off the freeway so that I could try to understand what was being said without, at least, the road noise combined with the less than satisfactory connection, the mobile phone, the speaker phone and all the background voices. They obliged while Mitzi pulled off the freeway into a Chevron station in Calimesa and parked against a wall in the furthest corner of the parking lot.
The conversation began anew "Mr. Loe, your son is a very sick boy (there was that expression again). He was brought in to St. George's by ambulance very early this morning and admitted to hospital in cardiac arrest. He had collapsed at home and while the paramedics were en route, CPR was being performed by his mother and aunt (Robin and Mag). He did not have a heartbeat when he arrived at hospital. He is currently on 100% oxygen and 100% support. He has had 2 surgeries. The first was a type of endoscopy because we had a blood test that indicated a high degree of belief that Geoff has internal bleeding. The endoscopy indicated a dark area surrounding his spleen so the decision was made to remove his spleen. When we attempted the spleenectomy we found that there were numerous areas of internal hemorrhage, including a large fissure at the back of his stomach. We attempted to pack his abdomen and found that even with the packing we could not stop the bleeding." Mind you, I was probably hearing every other word of this given the poor connection, speaker phone with all the background noise and the roar of the freeway across the parking lot.
I think I understood far too well what they were telling me but seemingly did not want to say the words that would eliminate my hopefulness. I interrupted the doctor and wondered aloud if I could ask some questions. "How long do you think Geoff was without a heartbeat" I first queried. "At least 30 minutes and perhaps as long as 50 minutes" was the direct response. "Explain to me the meaning of 100% support please" was my followup. "We have Geoff on a heart and lung support system that is keeping his heart beating and aiding in his respiration" came the reply. "What sort of brain function do you think he has?" came my next interrogatory. "We don't believe he has any. His pupils are fully dilated and we can get no response stimulating his nervous system" was the gut wrenching answer. "How long can he survive if you take him off the support?" was my rapid retort. "No more than 2 minutes" was the brutally honest response. "In fact, we are not sure he can survive more than a couple of hours more, in any event" was the followup by the nameless voice on the other end of the phone. "Then I don't see that there is any point" was my final statement during this give and take. At that, there were the unmistakable cries and sobs of mothers and sisters and aunties whose hearts were broken. Mercifully, someone took over the speaker phone and made the statement "I don't think anything more of intelligence is going to come from this conversation". I blurted something into the phone to try to convey my love and concern for everyone in the room but I have no idea if it was heard or understood.
I was left to my own thoughts and conversation with Mitzi the balance of the journey to LAX. So what happened? Did my son have a heart attack? There is not a significant history of heart disease in our family. We had never been told he had any kind of heart condition. Did he have a stroke? I was aware that he had complained of tonsillitis within the past couple of weeks but it seemed innocuous enough. In the background of my consciousness was the understanding that Geoff had been diagnosed with Hodgkin Lymphoma in November, 2007. He underwent a standard course of chemotherapy for some months in early 2008 and then directed radiation therapy. He had all the prescribed follow up tests and was thought to be in total remission. Could this somehow be related? How could the Lymphoma come back this strong and fast if in fact it did? It was also true that he was involved in Brazillian Jiu Jitsu training and had achieved a level of physical fitness he had not seen in years, if ever. How could a seemingly healthy, happy, hard working, fun loving, extremely likable young man who loved his parents and family and was loved and adored by them be snatched away like this? It didn't make any sense. No sense at all.
I then received a text message from Mag letting me know that the conference call was going to be taking place in the next 45 minutes. Knowing I had some time I phoned my 79 year old mother in Wimberley, Texas to let her know what I knew, which wasn't very much. I also heard from Shawn again, notifying me that he had found Candi a seat on a flight on V Australia Airlines that was leaving LAX close to the same time as my Qantas flight but she had to be routed through Melbourne and would arrive in Sydney about 4 hours after my flight.
Just as we passed Beaumont on the I-10 my mobile phone rang. I found that I was connected to a speaker phone in a conference room at St. George's and that there were quite a few voices in the background. The combination of the mobile phone that I had and the speaker phone on the other end made for significant difficulty in hearing what was being said. The speaker was a critical care physician from St. George's and she identified the others in the room as another physician, a surgeon, a social worker, Robin, Melissa, Mag and Joanne (Jo), Geoff's girlfriend of the last 3 years. She began the conversation by telling me that my son was "very sick". My mind was spinning at light speed: Why was there a social worker on the call? It had only been about an hour since I heard that Geoff was being taken in to surgery so why was he out so soon? Why was it so difficult to hear these people? Why do they keep saying that my son is very sick?
I had to beg the caller to wait for me to pull off the freeway so that I could try to understand what was being said without, at least, the road noise combined with the less than satisfactory connection, the mobile phone, the speaker phone and all the background voices. They obliged while Mitzi pulled off the freeway into a Chevron station in Calimesa and parked against a wall in the furthest corner of the parking lot.
The conversation began anew "Mr. Loe, your son is a very sick boy (there was that expression again). He was brought in to St. George's by ambulance very early this morning and admitted to hospital in cardiac arrest. He had collapsed at home and while the paramedics were en route, CPR was being performed by his mother and aunt (Robin and Mag). He did not have a heartbeat when he arrived at hospital. He is currently on 100% oxygen and 100% support. He has had 2 surgeries. The first was a type of endoscopy because we had a blood test that indicated a high degree of belief that Geoff has internal bleeding. The endoscopy indicated a dark area surrounding his spleen so the decision was made to remove his spleen. When we attempted the spleenectomy we found that there were numerous areas of internal hemorrhage, including a large fissure at the back of his stomach. We attempted to pack his abdomen and found that even with the packing we could not stop the bleeding." Mind you, I was probably hearing every other word of this given the poor connection, speaker phone with all the background noise and the roar of the freeway across the parking lot.
I think I understood far too well what they were telling me but seemingly did not want to say the words that would eliminate my hopefulness. I interrupted the doctor and wondered aloud if I could ask some questions. "How long do you think Geoff was without a heartbeat" I first queried. "At least 30 minutes and perhaps as long as 50 minutes" was the direct response. "Explain to me the meaning of 100% support please" was my followup. "We have Geoff on a heart and lung support system that is keeping his heart beating and aiding in his respiration" came the reply. "What sort of brain function do you think he has?" came my next interrogatory. "We don't believe he has any. His pupils are fully dilated and we can get no response stimulating his nervous system" was the gut wrenching answer. "How long can he survive if you take him off the support?" was my rapid retort. "No more than 2 minutes" was the brutally honest response. "In fact, we are not sure he can survive more than a couple of hours more, in any event" was the followup by the nameless voice on the other end of the phone. "Then I don't see that there is any point" was my final statement during this give and take. At that, there were the unmistakable cries and sobs of mothers and sisters and aunties whose hearts were broken. Mercifully, someone took over the speaker phone and made the statement "I don't think anything more of intelligence is going to come from this conversation". I blurted something into the phone to try to convey my love and concern for everyone in the room but I have no idea if it was heard or understood.
I was left to my own thoughts and conversation with Mitzi the balance of the journey to LAX. So what happened? Did my son have a heart attack? There is not a significant history of heart disease in our family. We had never been told he had any kind of heart condition. Did he have a stroke? I was aware that he had complained of tonsillitis within the past couple of weeks but it seemed innocuous enough. In the background of my consciousness was the understanding that Geoff had been diagnosed with Hodgkin Lymphoma in November, 2007. He underwent a standard course of chemotherapy for some months in early 2008 and then directed radiation therapy. He had all the prescribed follow up tests and was thought to be in total remission. Could this somehow be related? How could the Lymphoma come back this strong and fast if in fact it did? It was also true that he was involved in Brazillian Jiu Jitsu training and had achieved a level of physical fitness he had not seen in years, if ever. How could a seemingly healthy, happy, hard working, fun loving, extremely likable young man who loved his parents and family and was loved and adored by them be snatched away like this? It didn't make any sense. No sense at all.
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