As I was leaving work my father called me.
"It's bad," he said.
After the nurse visited with my parents yesterday, they went into the hospital because her pain was so severe. Instead of going towards the emergency room, they headed towards the fifth floor of in the inpatient clinic tower. The staff found a room for her immediately.
My mother's pain and swelling had become too severe. Her lungs were filled with fluid, blood pressure was dropping, and her hemoglobin was low. No ascites was found in her abdomen.
The doctors think she has little time left.
"Your mother didn't want me to call you. She didn't want to worry you."
I sat in my car as he spoke, and I wasn't sure whether I needed to fly out to Los Angeles immediately. She refused both the breathing and NG tube.
The doctors were prepping my mother to remove the fluid from her lungs. A small incision will be made in her back and somehow the doctors would remove the fluid from there.
"I'll call you when I get home. I need to get back to her."
"Do I need to come home?"
"I don't know." He sighed. "I'll call you later."
