Readers may remember that my father is very ill and in the hospital. He’s lost so much weight, and his lungs fill with liquid. The doctors are scheduling some kind of TAVR procedure, maybe even open heart surgery to follow.
Previous phone calls were pretty harsh. During several he couldn’t even speak at all. He has also gotten himself a reputation with the nurses as a difficult case. They hated him at the last place. He’d rip out the tubes and oxygen feeds. Security guards had to beat on him a bit, I believe.
“Anybody else would have shot themselves,” he began. “Blood, blood pressure, blood, blood pressure, blood, blood pressure. They don’t let you sleep, all night. Ever. It drives you insane.”
He’s got bed sores and is quite batty at this point.After he told me about the new surgeries I could have went somber, but I thought I’d go the other route.
“Well hey, if any asshole can make it through all that, it’s you. You’re strong.”
He laughed until he choked, and I do believe he agreed with me. So there’s that.
Told him I loved him too, which often seems clunky and forced, but not today.