February 9, 2006 – Homeward Journey Last Leg

February 9, 2006 – Homeward Journey Last Leg

It’s Sunday afternoon, January 29th at about a quarter past three in the afternoon. I’m in the Southwest Airlines terminal of LAX waiting for the departure of SW 1577 at 4:45 PM for El Paso, Texas. I love and hate LA, especially LAX. I love it because it’s like me, a city of mixed ethnicity—Hispanic and Anglo and Negro and Korean and… I’m an ethnic mix of white father—half European, half Mississippi Cajun—and Pacific Islander mother—a lovely Filipina, as shrewd and willful and kind and compassionate as they come. My two parents would have fitted in well in LA. I hate LA for the same reason, because it’s like me, a mix of cultures, neither white nor any one ethnicity: a part of neither culture. If I sound as though I’m complaining, I’m not. I’ve grown used to being a part of a group while not being of the group.

I’m en route to El Paso to be with my ailing mother. My youngest sister DD is making preparations to join us from Boston Logan airport, She’d been away on Saturday and only just returned Sunday to hear the news at about the same time I got word, though hers went into cell phone voice mail. Her information about what’s going on was old and second hand, the updates having come from an earlier conversation she and I had before leaving home. I told her in our last call that I would put her on a three-way connection the next time I reached our oldest sister in El Paso so she could hear the next update first hand. I’m sitting in the boarding area of America West Gate 4A right across the wide center aisle of Terminal 1 from Southwest Airlines Gate 3B, where I’ll be departing from. I’m near the Gordon Biersch seating area beside a 4-payphone kiosk. I dial my eldest sister’s number and remarkably she picks up on the third ring.

I put her on hold and conference my youngest sister into the call. When I bring both parties on the line, I hear the voice of our middle sister LC beginning to talk—she’s the cardiac nurse and can interpret to us the arcane terms of the cardiac procedures our mother has been given since she was admitted to the hospital on Thursday. “Okay, she begins. Mom just went through a major cardiac intervention. The doctors stopped her heart and restarted it. She had experienced atrial fibrillation, a quickening in the heart rate, and the doctors had to stop the heart and restart it. She went through the procedure with no complications and her heart is now beating with a normal rhythm, All her vital signs are good and she’s resting.” DD, also a nurse, asks a couple of questions that go over my head, gets the answers she was expecting then tells us she’s booked on a Delta flight early Monday morning.

I confirm that I’ll be arriving on time at 7:35 and we hang up. I’m feeling better now that my mom’s heart beat is back to a more normal rhythm. The atrial fibrillation began the last time she had a heart attack, but the doctors decided against the procedure she just went through for fear she might not survive it. They opted instead to treat her with the drug Coumadin, an anticoagulant that thins the blood to prevent blood clotting, a complication occurring with an irregular heart beat. One side effect of the drug was my mother was constantly cold, no matter how warm the day was nor how hot the house was inside. This time faced with a quickening heart rate, the doctors had no choice but to bring the beat in check. The fact that she survived the procedure was a surprise to the staff, less so to us who know her strong will. The wait at the airport is tedious and I have a “B” boarding pass meaning little choice in seating. When we do finally board Southwest Flight 1577 at Gate 3B, I find myself in the last aisle seat on the plane, which is bound for Austin after it drops us all off in El Paso.

As soon as the last passenger took their seat, the ground crew slammed the door shut and the Boeing 737 was pushed back from the gate and onto the taxi way. From there the captain revved the Pratt & Whitney engines and the plane made its way to the end of the empty runway and took off, without waiting for arriving traffic, into an evening sky the sun was fast abandoning. Once at cruising altitude, I order a glass of red wine for $3.00 and settled down for the under two-hour flight to El Paso. It was just after 6:00 PM in El Paso and we were on time for touchdown at 7:30 PM.

When my Mom had her last heart attack I remembered most vividly her labored breathing as I experienced her anxiety and shortness of breath as I watched her struggle. I felt helpless and kept touching her hoping that I could somehow ease her labor. It was a futile effort as we are all destined to experience everything in life alone. We’re born alone. That young bunch of bone, sinew, and muscle—more muscle than we’re given credit for—has to make its way through the birth canal. Mom can help, but each of us must push its way into the world. You only have to see the reddened face and the tired eyes of a infant new born to realize the amount of effort he/she expended being born. We should all realize that this first struggle—getting into this world—is one of countless more we must overcome to stay in this world. I was now arriving to witness my mother’s next struggle.