Pedro

It was Thanksgiving week, 2005.  I remember sister Sophia calling me on Monday morning because TPG had had an event and been taken to the hospital.  On the very first call, it seemed like things might resolve themselves quickly, (something about a gall-bladder), but by mid-morning, it was clear I needed to get to Pinehurst.

Muv had been awakened by Pha wandering in the night, delirious.  It took all of her strength to get him to the bed and and wait for the EMTs to come and take him to the hospital.  Soph was there with first light and brother Dunn and I were there later on Monday.

They removed Pha’s gall-bladder, but that did not seem to have any impact.  The doctors knew by the end of the day that Pha had had a stroke, but it wasn’t clear how bad things were.  He remained unconscious and the medical staff assured us that that was common in situations like these.  “Give it 48 hours before you start to worry”, they said.

Sister Piel was in Boston at this point, great with child.  She couldn’t fly, so Paul began scheming about how to get her down to be with the family.

We had meetings with various doctors on Tuesday and Wednesday morning, but not much progress.  Pha continued to be non-responsive.  After I asked the infectious disease doctor a couple of questions to clarify things, he asked if I was a physician.  I did manage to respond “No, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night”.

We had a very subdued Thanksgiving in Pinehurst.

By Friday morning, we were past the point where it was normal that Pha remained non-responsive.  I was in the room with him, talking to him as we had all been doing.  I explained that Piel couldn’t fly, so Paul had rented a big van with a reclining chair and that if Pha didn’t get better, Piel and Paul and Max were going to have to drive down I-95.  Given Piel’s condition and the long drive, they would probably have to pull over at South of the Border.  If Piel happened to go into labor there, the new baby would have to be named “Pedro”. At that moment, TGP moved his head from left to right and said “Pedro”.  I’ve never heard anything better.

Piel et al did fly down that Sunday.  Piel hid her Lucy belly with a very large Starbucks bag as she boarded the plane.  Max was 25 months old at that point, but under two flies for free, so Piel and Paul wrapped him in a baby blanket and kept him in their lap.  

Pha’s recovery was slow, and included a 4 week stay for M and F in Atlanta with us the next spring for him to have heart surgery.  

He did recover though, and somewhat surprisingly, it was not his heart that got him in the end.

And I never look at Lucy without wanting to call her Pedro.

Lucy holding stuffed Sparky