Wonky Wonderings

I asked Richard if he wanted to ride to the store with me tonight. He said no. I went by myself and was aggravated that I had to ride alone. So much so, in fact, I called my sister to pass the time. In retrospect, I am so glad he chose to stay at home.
Upon my return, Jordyn met me downstairs to tell me that G’dad was upstairs because Pop had fallen down. I threw my bag and my purse aside. He said, “Aunt Susan said he was ok but…” I almost knocked him down as I made my way up the stairs.
I hurried down the hall to dad’s bedroom. Susan was at Dad’s side assuring him he was fine and “that it was nothing but a scratch” when I came through the door. I saw him lying there in the bed with his injured arm in the air, a wet washcloth held firmly in place. My stomach flip-flopped at the thought that I hadn’t been here for him.
I assessed the cut within seconds and headed to get the necessary medical supplies. Richard hurried into the room with a handful of supplies so I made quick note of what he had brought and what I would need, before hurrying to get them.
As I reentered the room, I flew into action. I cleaned and assessed the wound, realizing instantly that I would have no choice but to debride the wound. Susan faded out of the room. The tears in his skin would, in no way, go back together. The skin was torn and hanging. I cleaned the area, then began to cut away the slightly thicker than paper pieces of torn skin. Then I cleaned, dried, put antibiotic ointment on and bandaged his bruised and bloody mess of an arm.
The whole time I worked on him, Dad thanked me for taking care of him. Something inside me screamed, wanting to say I hadn’t been here to prevent it. I was gone when it happened and I was kicking myself for it. It was my job to take care of him and I had let him down. Each time he thanked me, I felt a knife slice through me. It was the knife of guilt.
When he was settled in a bed with fresh linens (thanks for helping me Richard) and he had a fresh pair of pajamas (the ones he was wearing were covered in blood and soaking), I had time to think about my feelings. They were the same feelings I felt when my children were young and got hurt. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t prevent them from getting hurt. Unfortunately, I can’t entirely prevent Dad from getting hurt either.
His “Wonky” (dizzy, unstable, light-headed) feelings are happening more frequently of late. And it causes so many things to cross my mind. His spirits are good and he is coping so well now that Mom is back with him. Sometimes, it’s as if his body is failing him despite his will to survive. He has insisted that his “Wonky” feelings are related to his heart.

I can’t help wondering if they are. I’m calling his doctor on Monday because I really need some answers.