The Loco Parentis
This weekend, my father ended up in the hospital again. (Those of you who saw my post on fb already know this.) He's going to be OK, but he's not feeling all that great right now, reportedly.
Dad had a gig on Saturday, and felt uncomfortable and sick through the whole thing. Of course he stayed and played through, who is it you think I'm speaking about here? But he thought maybe he had heat stroke or something, and was trying to hydrate, etc. Spent the evening after he got home throwing up, and all night. In the morning he couldn't keep fluids down. Mom ended up taking him to the emergency room. Tests and such later, the diagnosis was ... er, long words that mean that Dad had a twisted lower intestine, and they'd have to do surgery to fix it. They did the surgery, while they were in there took out his appendix ("Or you'll just be back again later") and said it was all fixed now.
Of course, Mom did not call until he was out of surgery and she felt like the main crisis was over. It's probably just as well, or I would have been worrying, and it turns out he's going to be fine. But I think as they get older, and have more medical issues, I might have to speak with her about this habit. Because what if she needed help and support? What if it was something we should know sooner rather than later? But maybe I'm just borrowing trouble.
When Mom called Sunday evening, Dad was loopy on pain meds and feeling fine. Yesterday he was slow and in some pain, but seeming better. Today, apparently, he's achy, pukey, logy, crabby, and several more of the less-savory dwarves. His lower GI has to start again before they'll let him leave the hospital, and it hasn't, and he feels awful. I know from my friend Jay Lake's experiences with surgery and lower GI restarts, that this is not fun. The doctors don't seem worried at the moment, so Mom is trying to cover her worry with humor and chattiness, as is her wont. And mine, if you were wondering where I got that. Who me? Nope, not worried or nervous, no, just babbling at a mile a minute, and trying to make it all jokey, nothing to see here, move along.
Anyway, I'm not too worried either, if the doctors aren't worried. I guess. Am I babbling? Have I made any crass jokes? Oh, the dwarves thing. Well, I mean, that's just sitting there, asking to be told. I can't pass up an unsavory dwarves joke. Come on. It's not like I made a cut the cheese joke or anything. (Note: I totally made an unrelated cut the cheese joke on Saturday. See? Sometimes I'm just crass for no reason.)
OK, yes, I'm worried in a, back of the mind, my parents aren't supposed to get old, hospitals are scary when people you love are in them, but really everything is fine kind of way. But he's going to be fine. And I know this. I'd just rather he were fine already, and home, and back to his normal, crazy, over-active, hyper-busy life. Seriously. Also, Dad, you're not allowed to have Labor Day anymore. Stay home and rest from now on. The three-day weekend crazy is obviously too much for you. If I have to hire people to sit on you and make you stay home, I will.
Dad had a gig on Saturday, and felt uncomfortable and sick through the whole thing. Of course he stayed and played through, who is it you think I'm speaking about here? But he thought maybe he had heat stroke or something, and was trying to hydrate, etc. Spent the evening after he got home throwing up, and all night. In the morning he couldn't keep fluids down. Mom ended up taking him to the emergency room. Tests and such later, the diagnosis was ... er, long words that mean that Dad had a twisted lower intestine, and they'd have to do surgery to fix it. They did the surgery, while they were in there took out his appendix ("Or you'll just be back again later") and said it was all fixed now.
Of course, Mom did not call until he was out of surgery and she felt like the main crisis was over. It's probably just as well, or I would have been worrying, and it turns out he's going to be fine. But I think as they get older, and have more medical issues, I might have to speak with her about this habit. Because what if she needed help and support? What if it was something we should know sooner rather than later? But maybe I'm just borrowing trouble.
When Mom called Sunday evening, Dad was loopy on pain meds and feeling fine. Yesterday he was slow and in some pain, but seeming better. Today, apparently, he's achy, pukey, logy, crabby, and several more of the less-savory dwarves. His lower GI has to start again before they'll let him leave the hospital, and it hasn't, and he feels awful. I know from my friend Jay Lake's experiences with surgery and lower GI restarts, that this is not fun. The doctors don't seem worried at the moment, so Mom is trying to cover her worry with humor and chattiness, as is her wont. And mine, if you were wondering where I got that. Who me? Nope, not worried or nervous, no, just babbling at a mile a minute, and trying to make it all jokey, nothing to see here, move along.
Anyway, I'm not too worried either, if the doctors aren't worried. I guess. Am I babbling? Have I made any crass jokes? Oh, the dwarves thing. Well, I mean, that's just sitting there, asking to be told. I can't pass up an unsavory dwarves joke. Come on. It's not like I made a cut the cheese joke or anything. (Note: I totally made an unrelated cut the cheese joke on Saturday. See? Sometimes I'm just crass for no reason.)
OK, yes, I'm worried in a, back of the mind, my parents aren't supposed to get old, hospitals are scary when people you love are in them, but really everything is fine kind of way. But he's going to be fine. And I know this. I'd just rather he were fine already, and home, and back to his normal, crazy, over-active, hyper-busy life. Seriously. Also, Dad, you're not allowed to have Labor Day anymore. Stay home and rest from now on. The three-day weekend crazy is obviously too much for you. If I have to hire people to sit on you and make you stay home, I will.