Pain – Emotional and Physical

Most readers of this blog probably also follow me on social media so you know that I’ve been on the struggle bus for the last month and a half with a severe shoulder separation and the death of my father. I’ve slacked on the blog as I’ve spent most of my time recovering from surgery and managing out the mourning process.  Here’s a recap of what happened.

As October drew to a close, we were preparing here in China for Halloween.  Alanna and I were going as Mario and Luigi, since… they are cheap costumes we could buy online.  The kids were all set to be the captains – America and Marvel.  A few days before Halloween, I received the news from my sister that my Dad wasn’t doing well.  He’d fallen a few times and all signs pointed to a stroke.  After getting him to the hospital, the stroke was confirmed and then it seemed he had another stroke while he was there.  At that point, everything seemed to go downhill quickly for Dad and doctors ultimately came to the conclusion there just wasn’t much more they could do but to make him comfortable.  This meant moving my Dad to Hospice.  For those of you that don’t know, hospice is just a place where you go to die. They make you as comfortable as possible, try to manage the pain as best they can, and its generally, or at least in my Dad’s case, is a better way to pass rather than being in a hospital.

In the middle of all this happening, I was having some problems of my own – namely a separated shoulder. I joined a Darts League here in China just to get me out of the house some more.  I am below average at the game, but it lets me socialize and have a beer or two, so I figured it was a good idea.  I’m in a solo league and a team league.  We played in a team match Wednesday before Halloween.  It went pretty late and I made my usual way home on the scooter.  It was dark.  The scooter does have a light, but if you turn it on, it drops the power of the scooter by 50% and it goes much slower.  My better half has told me not to ride at night.  Apparently, I need to listen to her.  About half way home that night, the front tire of my scooter hit some kind of hole and I was launched over the handlebars and down to the asphalt at about 15 miles per hour.  I tried to brace myself with my hands, but they quickly gave way. I was lucky my head didn’t hit the ground, or it would have been much worse. The only thing that DID make first, solid contact with that asphalt was my right shoulder.  I rolled around a little bit, felt a little sick, but got back up, found my flip flop about 20 feet away, then got back on the scooter and made my way home. The pain really didn’t hit me until I got home.  Everyone was mostly asleep, so I slipped into bed, mumbling to my wife about how I was fine when she asked how the night went.  I spent the rest of the night in agony as I tried to get in a position to sleep in that wouldn’t hurt my shoulder.

When I figured out how to get out of bed the next morning, the pain was excruciating.  Alanna immediately noticed something looked off about my shoulder, even with a shirt on.  When she made me take off the shirt, well… a picture tells the story…

Yes, that’s my clavicle sticking up in a way it was never meant to be.

While all that is happening is when my sister called to let me know about my Dad.  I needed to come home to the States, to see him before he passed. And here I was with some kind of nasty injury. I freaked out a little. Alanna freaked out a little. She immediately sent me to the hospital.  Ah yes, the Chinese hospital experience again. Same hospital as before.  I met with the same English-speaking nurse on the VIP floor and she took me to get X-Rays.  The X-ray tech used an app on his phone to move the machine all around me, so that was kind of cool.  Once the pictures were taken, the nurse took me to see a doctor who would look at my results.  He didn’t speak English, but as soon as he touched my shoulder and felt the bone sticking up, he made the universal “Oooohhhhhh……” sound that lets everyone know, in any language, that there is something definitely wrong.  From the examination of my shoulder and the x-ray scan, the doctor concluded I had grade 3 separation of my AC joint – which means that all the tendons holding my clavicle in place were torn completely apart and nothing was holding that bone down anymore.

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The doctor recommended immediate surgery. His plan was to admit me to the hospital right then and there, stay through the weekend and then have surgery early that next week.  I asked some questions, such as “So how does this surgery work?  Do you put me to sleep? What is the recovery time?”  You know, all standard questions.  To my shock, the doctor said they he would NOT put me to sleep.  He would just numb my shoulder, then cut open my shoulder, put some pins in my bones and pull everything back in place… all while I’m awake. Like, my right ear is right there, listening to whatever he would do to my shoulder.

 I called my wife, and had her talk to the nurse.  My father’s situation was explained to the medical staff and how having surgery right now wasn’t going to be in the cards for me.  I asked them if I was ok to fly home. They said no, I shouldn’t fly.  They weren’t too worried about further injury, just me being in pain.  I told them that’s what I had to do though. I mean, come on. It’s my Dad. My hero. They got me a very flimsy sling and put it on my arm to keep it slightly immobilized. It still hurt like hell, but it was the best they could do I suppose. They also gave me some kind of pain meds – that did absolutely nothing. It made no dent in the pain whatsoever.  So, I was sent home against medical advice. This was actually on Halloween.  My lovely wife, who was already slammed busy at her work with Halloween festivities, was also slammed busy making my travel plans with my sister. Even the folks at my work were helping look up prices, figure out the best routes, out of the kindness of their hearts.  It would be just me, with the injury. I had to leave my wife and kids in China. We were able to get me on a flight early the next morning, but that was the only good thing about the trip.  Flying was horrible. The China to the States flight, no matter which way you go, will always be about 13 to 15 hours… straight. That’s just from the major flight hub of China to a major hub in the U.S. That doesn’t count the connecting flights and layovers.  The average travel time for me is about 24 hours of flying and layovers.  And I had a separated shoulder. And my seat didn’t even recline on the 14-hour flight. My shoulder throbbed the entire way. There was no chance to sleep. An abundant amount of turbulence on the long flight only made matters worse.

My brother-in-law picked up my battered self at the airport and drove me an hour to see my father, but first dropped me off at the ER to have the U.S. Docs take a look at my injury. They came to mostly the same conclusion as the doctors in China – a separated shoulder that would require surgery.  The only difference in their diagnosis was an upgrade in the severity of the injury.  It was a grade 5 AC separation, not grade 3. Grade 5 is the most severe I guess.  Anyway, they referred me to an Orthopedic Surgeon as soon as he could see me, which would be early the following week.

I saw my father for the first time the next morning. While he wasn’t able to open his eyes or really even speak, I am confident he knew I was there. He perked up just a bit when I spoke to him and that did give me some comfort. I spent that day and night in hospice with my Dad. His breathing only got more labored and it seemed like it was just getting harder and harder for him. The ladies there told me he wasn’t in any pain.  My sister came back the next morning and after checking on my Dad, the doctor gave us the news. He had about 48 hours left. This shocked us. You just assume you have more time. You assume that it will drag on longer.  But that’s all there was to it.  The doctor was very nice, told us what to expect, but nothing quite prepares you for watching someone you love die.  I have been very lucky in my life, and have been spared going through that, until now. My father continued to fade through the next day, and the next morning, the doctor was sure that my father would pass sometime soon. She was right. My father passed away later that day. I sat there, right beside him, and held his hand as he took his last breath. It haunted me. It haunts me. The only comforts I have is that he was in no pain and I got to see him before he died.

His funeral was that next weekend. I gave the eulogy. Here’s what I said –

My father died on a Sunday.

It was the most appropriate day to pass away. As it was the creator of all things’ custom to rest on the Sabbath, so was it with my Dad. His Faith was of the utmost importance to Gene Staton. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and that heart always led him straight to God. He wasn’t a silent Christian. Oh no. My Daddy was a loud man.  If you ever attended a church service with my father, you knew where he was as soon as the organ, piano or worship band began to play as he clapped, cried, said Amen, and generally praised the Lord with more outward passion than anyone I have ever known. On Sunday, my father got a very loud ovation as he ran, not walked through those Heavenly gates.

My father died on a Sunday.

It was a beautiful, sunny autumn day.  Perhaps my father’s favorite time of year. Not very hot, not too cold, but just right. Dad enjoyed being outdoors when it got dark a little earlier, and you had to remember to throw on an extra layer before leaving the house.  The fall classic had just ended, and that young 18 year old pitcher put his glove and ball away for the season.  He always found something else to do though.  Sitting in a tree stand for hours being silent didn’t quite stick with me, but for my father, it was a welcomed reprieve from working on the docks for 30 years. Not that he ever neglected his family though. Autumn was family time, where he wrapped each one of us in a blanket of love that lasted through Thanksgiving, Christmas and into the new year. Every year.

My father died on a Sunday.

Lazy Sundays were always a good time to hear some stories. And boy, did Dad have some Doozies. Here are just a few – A co-worker once bet my father that he couldn’t eat every single sandwich from a vending machine in one setting. That co-worker lost. Dad couldn’t afford to attend ballgames at Webb field as a child. So he snuck inside each time by crawling through drainage pipes. While hunting, Dad fell out of a tree stand and broke his leg.  The doctor put a cast on and told him to take it easy.  Dad went back to that tree stand the very next day, with a plastic bread bag wrapped around his cast.  Better safe than sorry, right? Dad was drafted into the Army, thought he never claimed to be a veteran. That’s because when he got to basic training, they found out he was a ballplayer.  They plucked him out of training, and he spent the rest of his military days travelling from base to base playing on the Army baseball team. From smoking rabbit tobacco, to having a run in with the law because he was too hungry, my father always, always made things interesting in his own special way.

My father died on a Sunday.

And that’s why all of us are here.  Dad was larger than life. He never met a stranger. He’d smile and wave to anyone he saw, no matter their race, color or creed. And if they struck up a conversation with him, they’d either end up with an amazing story they could share with others or a tract telling them all about how we all have sinned and come short of the Glory of God.  And to those people who knew and loved him? He would help them at the drop of a hat.  When I was still a child, my Dad befriended a young African American family in Concord who were having serious financial troubles.  He preached to them, clothed them, fed them, and taught me a very powerful lesson about unconditional love when he brought home that family’s young son to spend the night with me just so that little boy could play with some really neat toys. These are the kinds of stories my Dad would never EVER tell you, but they are the ones I want you to hear.  It’s the way I want his friends and family to remember him.

My father died on a Sunday.

And it broke us in half.  If my mother was my heart, then Daddy was surely my soul.  And that’s what we’re really made of isn’t it.  If you believe… a heart and a soul.  My mother provided for me with a loving, nurturing heart, and Dad, he gave me, and everyone else, his soul. That soul left us on Sunday.  You may not believe in such things, and that’s ok.  But I do.  I felt it, felt it leave this place.  And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that my Daddy, my hero, and his soul, are in a much, much better place. When my mother died, I talked about her kindness and challenged everyone to be like her.  Well now, I challenge you to be like my Dad – bare your soul. To your family, to your friends, to complete strangers.  Show people what you’re made of.  My Daddy surely did. And I believe we are all a little better for it.

During the week leading up to my father’s funeral, I had my appointment with the Orthopedic Surgeon. For some random doctor that I was referred to in Hickory, NC of all places, he couldn’t have been better. He was genuinely concerned about everything I was going through. He gave me options and in the end his recommendation was surgery. Thankfully, he didn’t want to put any metal pins in me. He’d also put me to sleep for the whole thing. He even scheduled himself to work an extra shift so he could squeeze me into surgery a few days after the funeral.  The surgery went just fine.  No metal, just cadavers. Yes, Cadavers. Dead people. It’s all the rage I guess. They used a cadaver graft instead of metal pins to pull my clavicle down and hold it back in place.  What are cadaver grafts you ask?

Cadaver Graft

Grafting tissue, including skin, cornea, or bone, obtained from a body immediately after death.

So now I have someone else inside me.  I’m pretty sure this is how the zombie apocalypse starts, or how I get framed for murder through DNA evidence. In any case, the surgery went off without any problems and I was sent home in a much better sling and some major pain killers to recover.

For two weeks, I basically lived in a recliner. I really just wanted to get back to China, but I had to at least wait for the follow up appointment to get the stitched out and make sure everything was still OK with the shoulder. The doctor took out the stitches at that appointment and gave me the OK to fly back to China. This type of surgery requires 4 to 5 months to heal – meaning, I can’t really get my arm above my head for awhile and have to do a lot of physical therapy. The doctor set me up with a recovery plan, which I can do all on my own, cause I didn’t want to have to go to a Chinese hospital once a week.  I got a flight out to China two days later.  I missed out on Thanksgiving because I was flying over the North Pole. The pain was still terrible, but at least my seat reclined and my movie selection was acceptable.

I’m back in China now, with my family, where I belong. I took my sling off after four weeks of my arm being immobilized. My shoulder still hurts a lot, pretty much all the time, but it’s getting better, slowly but surely. I’m back at work now for a few weeks, and then I get a 2-month break. Yeah, my job is pretty nice right now. I miss my father. I still think about him multiple times every day. He will always be with me.  I have an amazing support family though – my wife, my kids, my sister, my brother-in-law. They all give me a reason to get up every day and put a smile on my face.  I’ll talk to you next week. We’ll be in Hong Kong to start the holiday break, watching Star Wars and stuffing our faces with Xiao long bao.  Oh, and there’s an Outback steakhouse nearby.  I can already smell Aussie Cheese Fries…