Recently both my parents become seriously ill; each requiring hospital and extended care afterward. All this "mortality" smacked me in the face like a wet dish towel! At first I walked around in a daze and felt shell-shocked. Then I was amazed to discover I have an automatic pilot mode and I like it; I like it a lot! Now, I'm convinced we all have one. It isn't when we have an emotional breakdown or when we are stretched to our limit and crazy busy, it is that dimension that goes one inch further between madness and clarity when your mind and body are so twisted up in knots that it really doesn't know what to do with itself, so you enter the alternate reality zone.

The funny thing about being in the alternate reality zone is the certainty with which you know you were once there; afterwards of course. While there, I was able to function; I got my classroom ready for the school year, fed the dogs, fed my sons, paid the bills, took a shower, brushed my teeth, did laundry, told all my friends I was fine and didn't need anything, etc. I noticed I didn't care about things like dusty furniture, dirty dishes, weeds, or over-ripe tomatoes hanging on the vines in the garden or the over-full trash can, etc. Whatever could wait until later did and it was my alternate reality zone that knew what must be dealt with and what could wait.

The first moment I entered the zone was when I went with my father to have a heart cathederization done at the hospital. My mother wasn't feeling well and had been struggling with illness for awhile. So I said I would take him because I didn't want him to cancel the test. I didn't think there would be much to it. I'd drive him there, he'd get his test and I'd drive him home. Piece of cake, right? uh...no.

Dad is seventy-eight years old. He is a curmudgeonly, right-wing conservative with radical views on politics, religion, race and any another other boogedy, taboo subject you can think of. He is impatient, a tough guy who will still throw a punch at someone who uses the "F" word in front of mixed company. My father will step up on the soap box long after the filibuster ends just to keep the argument going!

All my life I've viewed my father as being as sentimental and loving as sandpaper. Don't misunderstand me, he took care of his family as he was taught to do. He worked very hard, took care of the house, yard and disciplined when my mother needed a boost of support from him. He was the kind of father you would expect John Wayne to be, no frills. He was honest, generous with others and took pride in being moral. He was also extremely intelligent; an avid reader and could retain everything he read no matter how mundane the subject or techinical the article.

I thought I knew my father well so I never really paid too much attention to him, but this day in the hospital all that came to a screeching halt. I first noticed how old he was looking. He couldn't get in and out of the car very well and everything took three times longer to do than normal. At the hospital, I realized the procedure was pretty involved and he would be knocked out. I stood behind the curtain as he undressed and put on his hospital gown. Then I helped him fold his clothes and put them in the bag the nurse provided. My father seemed like a fish out of water without my mother there. It felt odd, to be the one helping him. It felt odd that he needed help; I was getting uncomfortable. I was feeling my father's mortality along with him. We were very quiet with one another as we waited to get the call that the doctor was ready for him.

As we waited he joked with the nurse who put in his IV. He was being charming. We waited a bit longer and he talked to me about my mother. His face showed sincere worry and that caused me pain, I hadn't really thought she was that ill, but he had serious concerns and now I had them too. The nurse returned and after I kissed him and told him I loved him, she wheeled him away to surgery. He didn't look well and I felt my breath catch in my chest;I wanted to cry, but didn't dare.

After what seemed an eternity, I was summoned from the waiting room and taken to be with him in the recovery area. We were in a private area so the doctor could talk with us about the results of the test. It was very quiet, he was awake now and I asked if he was okay; he was. I asked if he had been asleep for the whole procedure; he said he had. I asked if he were comfortable now; he was. I was uncomfortable...I had never been around my father when he was vulnerable. He was always the strong man, capable and proud. This was not the case right now. Soon the doctor came in and delivered the news. He needs triple bypass surgery, as soon as possible. My father's hand reached for mine and he curled our fingers together and pressed tightly.

That is when I entered the zone. I knew he would not be able to comprehend anything else the doctor said after that announcement, so I listened for him. I was there~ on task, my wits sharper than they'd ever been. I heard every word, memorized the heart diagram the doctor showed us and noticed everything about the doctor from the shape of his face, to the way he smelled and the stubble on his face from not shaving that morning. I missed nothing and still, I held tight to my Dad's hand. The doctor was going to send us to recovery and a cardiac surgeon would be there to talk to us about options before we were released to go home. When the doctor left I stood looking at the space he once occupied hoping for another distraction, not sure what to do. I wanted to cry. Did he expect me to cry? Should I cry? I left the zone and become insecure and unsure of myself again.

I turned to look at my father and tears were running from his eyes down the sides of his head onto the pillow beneath him. I was back in the zone again. I told him everything was going to be all right, he had an excellent doctor, he was strong, etc. Then I said, "If you need surgery, we'll do it. I'll take care of you." My Dad became more emotional than I'd ever seen him, but pulled himself together quickly. "I'm not doing anything until we get your Mom straightened out." I slipped from the zone again and wished someone, anyone else was there with me. I felt I was saying all the wrong things. I was unsure of myself and my ability to be what my father needed at this time.

We waited for hours for the cardiac surgeon to come in. Finally, he arrived and told my father he was a good candidate for the surgery, giving us the necessary details. The doctor told him to call his office tomorrow to schedule the surgery as soon as possible. My Dad told him that wouldn't be happening because, "My wife is very sick right now and we don't know what's wrong. When she gets better, I will call to schedule the appointment." The doctor looked at me with surprise. I looked back practically begging him to keep talking. Thankfully, he did. He went on to tell my father he could suffer a debilitating stroke or massive heart attack at any moment. He was not to walk more than so many feet at a time, lift anything over five pounds, etc. After all the instructions were given and Dad promised to call as soon as possible to schedule the surgery, we were allowed to leave. I got ready to step to the other side of the curtain for privacy as he dressed and he called me over to his bed.

"Promise me something, will you?" he said, "You promise me that if anything happens to me you will take care of your mother." He began to cry and I promised him I would. I didn't bullshit around with him and tell him he was going to be all right and nothing bad was going to happen because the doctor clearly just told us something different. I had to promise to take care of Mom, do whatever I could to find out what was wrong with her and my final promise to him was that I would not put her in a nursing home.

Good to my word, my sisters and I moved into high gear in a frantic scramble to help my mother so Dad would agree to the surgery. I operated in the zone for five weeks; sonograms, ultrasounds, blood tests, biopsies, hospitals, rehabilitation centers for physical therapy, medical supplies equipment, emails, phone calls, texts. My mother came home late Friday afternoon, healthier than she'd been in ages. The following Wednesday my father was admitted for open heart surgery. He pulled through a nine hour surgery and is now on the mend.

My father and I have come through these past weeks with a new understanding and admiration for one another. It has been wonderful to get to know him as a person and not just as my father. He has renewed my faith in men by showing me what true dedication is. He loves my mother more than his own life; that is seriously impressive after fifty nine years of marriage. I also learned there is another state of being; one that isn't overwhelmed, frantic and troublesome. It is purposeful, alert and productive. It is a zone that lets you survive and weed out what's necessary and what's not in a time of crucial need. I think of the "Footprints" poem and now I understand the part where the person questions God, "Why did you leave me in my deepest hour of need? I only see one set of footprints." God replies, "It is then that I carried you."

Note to self: My "zone" is enabled by a force greater than my own will or ability. Is is God? I don't know, but I won't rule that out. I do know it is free from fear, despair and sadness. It is purposeful, calm, centered; what a most fabulous discovery!