My father is in ICU. While it was a little touchy, I have great faith in Western Medicine. Then, too, he’s an ornery old coot. Stubborn, too. When he was four years old, polio, he was told he would need to use a wheel chair for the rest of his life. Only in the last few months has he even bothered to try one of those things.
But he doesn’t do well under sedation, and there was an issue. My mother was at a summer place in the mountains, my father was to join her next week, and as of Thursday and even Friday morning, he was still planning on seeing her next week.
Then the surgeons had a confab, Pop was dosed up good, and wheeled away. I caught two hours’ sleep, got a call from the surgeon, “main procedure was fine, but there was a small problem…”
And Dad’s in ICU, recovering. I’ve run the iPhone battery down three times now, making calls, and placating all the women. Mom, Sister, &c.
The predominant question, “Should I hope on a plane – RIGHT NOW?!”
No, frantic females just exacerbate the problem. He’s under sedation, under the best medical care there is, and doesn’t want for a thing. Time to circle the wagons? Boil water? Bake a casserole? His faith suggests cake and cookies.
I didn’t want to bother the doctors, but the nurses? Anyway, when I first saw him after the surgery, asleep, they are so cute when they are asleep, I had a few token items I wanted to leave with him. Wedding ring (52 years to the same women, WTF), iPhone (more a tech offering gesture), and his glasses. The nurses shooed me away.
I’ll save until he wakes up. Or the women all arrive.