June 14, 2022
ICU Room 2457. The rhythmic sound from the ventilator was deafening, the beeping and bright lights from the monitors assaulted my senses. I had to fight back tears when I saw my father unconscious, mouth open with a tube down his throat, tape across his face. It was the first time in my life when I was not sure whether I would ever speak to my Dad again.
The week prior, my parents had taken their bi-annual transatlantic flight from their home in Vienna, Austria to their US home in Saint Simons Island, GA. Stubborn as my father can be, he ignored the indigestion he was experiencing. He brushed off the increasing weakness and bouts of feverish bathroom runs because there was no way in hell he was going to the hospital and leave my Mom. Since her stroke, she had become increasingly immobile and dependent on my father for almost everything. When my Mom finally insisted on calling 911, my Dad refused the paramedics’ aid, claiming it was just a tummy ache and that he was “FINE”. The following day, my dad didn’t make it to the bathroom. He passed out from the dehydration and fever that had been building over the past 4 days. This time, he didn’t have a choice – the ambulance finally took him to the hospital.
My mom was dressed to the nines, as always. Blue slacks and button down shirt, tweed jacket, all tied together with a matching scarf. Her makeup and hair were flawless, like she wanted to look her best when my dad woke up. IF he woke up.
The attending walked in to greet us and provide an update. My father was suffering from severe dehydration, sepsis and multi organ failure from a bacterial infection, caused by food poisoning. FOOD POISONING. The bacteria associated with his infection was likely from eating food handled in unclean conditions or undercooked chicken*. The airplane. “Chicken or pasta?” My dad had the chicken. In business class, no less. And now he was intubated, hooked to several IV bags, tubes going everywhere.
There was a dizzying array of doctors who had to tend to my father, from the infectious disease specialist and nephrologist to a cardiologist and pulmonologist, even a dermatologist. His system was collapsing like a house of cards, his pre-existing conditions and cocktail of 10 prescription meds causing a domino effect. Those 5 days in the ICU were some of the scariest of my life… there were so many variables playing into the equation of life or death. There was talk of surgery, possibly even amputation, and whether or not he would survive the anesthesia. His lungs were not strong enough for self sustained breathing and his heart would slip in to arrhythmia frequently without warning. The decision was made to hold off on surgery, treat aggressively with antibiotics to let the sepsis subside.
On day 4 of ICU and little improvement, my brother flew in from Munich to be with us, whatever the outcome. By some miracle, the following day, also in time for the Superbowl, my father’s lung function improved to the point that he could be taken off the vent. It was like he felt the severity of why his whole family was present and decided he was not ready to go. He was not willing to let my Mom go it alone, she just can’t.
When my Dad first awoke, he was out of sorts, confused and babbling nonsense. First order of business was a shave which seemed to make all the difference because by the time the Superbowl started, he was alert and practically ready for a beer. He remembered the weird dreams he had while he was under (when I say weird, I mean WEIRD!) and was more or less engaged in the Patriots beating the Rams.
His improvement was remarkable. He was moved out of the ICU the a few days later, his discharge pending the condition of his breathing and oxygen saturation. After a total of 12 days in the hospital, my father was released into a skilled nursing facility close to home. He was still too weak to travel, a transatlantic flight back to Vienna was out of the question until he regained some of his strength and his ability to feed himself and stand up on his own.
Magnolia Manor was depressing. It felt like the place where people go to die. The lights in the hallway gave everything a yellowish green tinge, the alternating smells of urine and antiseptic did not help our first impression.
Many rooms had decorative door plaques indicating their owners have been here for a while, most likely permanently. I wheeled my Mom past open doors where we could see lonely old people either asleep in bed or sitting in a chair staring at the wall. Room 208, there it was. My Dad shared a double room with a nice man who was recovering from hip surgery. The furnishings were simple and the bathroom basic. While he put on a brave face for my Mom, I could tell he was miserable, his eyes pleading “please get me out of here”. His daily routine was less than consistent, with bath time often occurring in the middle of the night and his occupational and physical therapy sessions strewn throughout the day, sometimes skipping one or both all together. How would he be able to get out within the 21-day window Medicare covered if he wasn’t receiving therapy? It soon became clear that he wasn’t. Pressure sores and blisters on both feet and an open wound on his right ankle from weight bearing exercise brought his PT to a screeching halt. Keeping him at what was soon to be nicknamed “Shitholia” Manor for wound care and not PT, raised the concern that his health would deteriorate. It would be best to get him back to Vienna as soon as possible where he had his doctors and more than adequate insurance while he was able to still stand up on his own. I would fly my parents to Washington, DC and get them to the international terminal where my brother would meet us to accompany them on the transatlantic flight.
What followed this decision, was a flurry of activity. Approvals from my father’s doctors were obtained, arrangements were made to re-schedule flights, secure wheelchair transport at all airports as well as an ambulance to the hospital upon landing in Vienna. My Mom and I hashed a plan to break my Dad out of “jail”. We got him home, ironically on my birthday (best birthday present ever), celebrated with a glass of champagne and began packing up the condo.
Two days later, after quite some exertion, my parents and I made it on the plane to DC. When we landed, my Dad insisted on using the restroom, something we tried to avoid by rigging some special “equipment” he refused to use. Instead, he wanted MY help. I thought “Really? We couldn’t wait 15 minutes to meet my brother?” We got through it, and as uncomfortable as it was for both of us, the experience bonded us for life. Thankfully the United Airlines Lounge awaited us with a cocktail to wash down any lingering embarrassment. I’m sure my brother needed a drink, too. He had flown 8 hours across the Atlantic just to turn around and fly back with my parents. It was a sweet, albeit very brief airport family reunion. We had made it halfway… I felt relieved to hand my parents over to my brother’s (who is a doctor, by the way) very capable hands.
The saga didn’t end with my Dad’s safe return home and to the hospital in Vienna. There was another very close call that following July, this time requiring me to get on a plane and face an unknown outcome. Again, the fighter that he his, my father recovered. I cannot imagine anything else but the love and sense of responsibility he holds for my mother that keeps pulling him back from the edge. The road to recovery was long. Eight months after his initial hospitalization in Georgia, he was finally home.
I am telling this story now because this experience affected me deeply in more ways than I could understand at the time. Apart from witnessing a parent skirting death not once but twice within months, the realization of how fragile my indestructible hero had become, took some time to process. What began to unfold, was the importance of maintaining one’s health, especially in an era when our generation is predicted to live well into our nineties and beyond. I began flashing back to both ICU stints and doctors’ discussions around the interaction of my father’s many medications. Why did he have to be on so many meds in the first place?
The mission that that seems to be unfolding for me personally, is to stave off dependency on any medication for as long as I can, ideally as long as I’m alive. The 2 areas I have started looking into are my hereditary and lifestyle influences on my current and future health. While cancer has played a role in parts of my extended family, cardio vascular disease seems to be a common denominator between both my parents. My Mom had a stroke in 2012 that rendered the right side of her body as well as her speech impaired. My memory of the event is cloudy, at best, as I wasn’t present during the incident. My parents were traveling in Kenya for a friend’s 70th birthday, when, during lunch on the last day of the safari, my mother lost her ability to speak or move her limbs. Thankfully, the hosts were well connected and knew of a British air force base nearby who were able to mobilize a plane to get my parents to Nairobi, about 200 miles away. What a Godsend! She remained in the ICU in Nairobi for what seemed like weeks during which it was unclear for the longest time how much damage the stroke had caused. When she finally woke up, she not only recognized my Dad but was even able to speak, albeit with a slur. What is more, she had sensation in her right foot and hand! It quickly became a priority to move my Mom from Nairobi back to Vienna as soon as possible. Special air transport was arranged accompanied by a flight nurse and she was delivered to the stroke unit at the hospital in Vienna and later a rehab center close to home where she received physical, occupational and speech therapy. It became clear that the stroke had caused irreparable damage to the left side of her brain resulting in limited mobility on the right side of her body. She was now dependent on a crutch for walking, had to learn how to become left handed and could no longer drive (devastating for someone as independent as my Mom). Her mind, thankfully, remains perfectly intact. She has not lost her wit, sense of humor nor her compulsion to correct poor grammar.
In January of this year, we came together as a family in Saint Simons Island not only to celebrate my Mom’s 80th birthday but also her 10th stroke survival anniversary. As long as my parents are still able to make the trip across the Atlantic, my brother and I will not stop them. Why take away one of their best sources of joy when it’s adventures like these that keeps them on their toes?
My parents’ wellbeing has become a focal point in my life – not only how to keep them healthy or be there for them when they’re not, but also how I can learn from their patterns and lifestyle to extend my own health span. Over the years, I’ve increasingly become interested in the healing effects of food and the idea of food as medicine. My Dad having become as ill as he did from food, reinforced this belief. If food can make you this sick, it must have the power to heal as well. This line of thinking aligns with my mission to avoid prescription medications as long as I can and to age with grace, a strong body and a healthy mind. With the awareness of my hereditary predispositions, I have started focusing on adapting my lifestyle to address some of my top health concerns: stress, cholesterol levels and inflammation. While I manage stress by incorporating yoga and meditation into my daily routine, I address cholesterol through diet and exercise and inflammation primarily through diet.
One of the most significant lifestyle changes I have adopted in recent years, is moving to a mostly whole foods plant based diet. During the summer of 2020, I slowly started eliminating animal products from my shopping list, starting with red meat, followed shortly thereafter by eggs and chicken. I held on to fish and dairy as long as I could. I always thought, there’s no way I can live without cheese… trust me, everyone who knows me, knows I LOVED my cheese. But I’m here to tell you that it is unexpectedly easy to live without it. I’m acutely aware of potential deficiencies a vegan diet can come with, such as lack of vitamin B12, Omega-3 fatty acids and iron. While I need to supplement with B12, all other important nutrients, essential amino acids and minerals can be found in plants – it’s a matter of consuming them in the right balance and combination.
Now, 2 years in, I have grown to love my (mostly) vegan lifestyle. I’m down 10 pounds, I have significantly more energy, sleep better and recover faster. It’s been so much fun discovering new recipes and learning about nutrition along the way. My love for cooking and living this lifestyle have prompted me to start dabbling in some new business ideas around running as a vegan, starting a vegan food business and launching a 30-day vegan challenge. I may not be a nutritionist or dietitian but I want to share my experience of going vegan by encouraging others to try it for 30 days – all with daily emails about nutrition, environment, animal welfare and how to make great use of amazing ingredients. Where all this will lead, remains to be seen but for now I’m having fun with while I keep adding to my website.
*Campylobacter is a bacteria that is prevalent in food animals such as poultry, cattle, pigs and sheep. Most often, carcasses or meat are contaminated by Campylobacter from feces during slaughter. In animals, Campylobacter seldom causes disease, especially when they’ve been treated with antibiotics.