Sunday, December 30, 2007
The day before we left to go to Birmingham, my stepmom called to tell me that they had decided against doing the quadruple bypass on my dad - apparently there was a doctor at the hospital who wanted to perform a relatively new procedure called a high-risk stent (and apparently, it was a new enough procedure that there's not even much info about it on Google) - but that they were going to hold off on anything until we got there.A day and a half later, we were standing next to my dad's hospital bed while the rather grim-faced doctor informed us of the 75% failure rate of the procedure. "3 out of 10 people who have this operation walk out of here... and the rest don't*" He told us that with all of my dad's health problems (including 50 years of smoking), it was an EXTREMELY risky procedure.
He asked if we had any questions, then asked my dad what he wanted. My dad said that he wanted to take the gamble and go ahead with the surgery.
They let us talk to him for about 10 minutes (during which time, my dad basically said his goodbyes and we all cried), then walked us to the other waiting room (our second room in 2 days).
Several excruciating hours later, after we'd seen happy doctors and nurses prance out and joyfully give good news to hopeful families, our grim-faced doctor peeked into the waiting room and called for us. "Please come back here with me," he said, ushering us into a tiny consulting room.
He sat down at the computer terminal in the room and started typing on the keyboard - I was numb, thinking that my life could be changing within seconds and he was... checking his email? He clicks around for a bit and finally finds the folder he's looking for - he clicks it open and shows us a couple of x-ray videos of my dad's blocked arteries - the one in his leg, he can't do anything - the ones in his heart were blocked between 80 and 90% - meaning that his heart was laboring because the blood just wasn't getting through.
He shows us another video of the blocked veins in the heart, then he shows us a video of a couple of thread-thin veins turning into big fat juicy veins in his (still) pulsing heart.
"This procedure was no piece of cake," he said. "But he came through it."
None of us were listening as he told us the changes my dad is going to have to make and how he wasn't out of the woods yet, we were too busy crying and thanking the doctor.
A couple of hours later, my husband, my kid**, and I got to go see him first - what a huge change - he wasn't the pale, frail old man we'd seen laboring for breath hours before - he was my dad - pink-cheeked, bright-eyed and pleasantly surprised to be alive***.
This has felt like the longest week of my entire life, such a roller coaster of emotions, but my dad is still here. And that doctor, as cocky and dramatic as he is, is officially the coolest person on the planet and on our Christmas card list for eternity.
* no one wanted to point out that 3 out of 10 would actually be 70% - he's a doctor, not a math teacher
** they don't allow kids under 12 in to see patients, but the nurses were so excited to see my dad back that they let us bend several rules
*** he said that he'd been expecting the lights to dim some time in the middle of the operation, but he said that they stayed blindingly bright and after the operation, the doctor bent down next to his head and said "congratulations, young man, you made it!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm not going to mention any names, but a certain comment-spamming attention-whore has advised me that:
1) She didn't even read my post before spamming it
and
2) If I'd politely asked for an apology, she "might" have apologized
and
3) If I'm going to write personal things on MY OWN PERSONAL BLOG, I should expect spam
yeah, I feel much better knowing that she's not insensitive, she's just a complete asshole with no regard for anyone else and zero class.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
To the girl who spammed* my last post for her own selfish reasons-
Wow. Just wow.You were so caught up in your desire to get revenge on some fucking wedding photographer who had wronged you last summer that you actually left a comment on the post about MY DAD DYING asking for people to check out your post and antagonize some guy you decided was a prick.
I don't even know what to say.
I wouldn't wish what my family is going through on anyone, but you really fucking need to work on your priorities.
* the whole comment** was:
Hope you had a very Merry Christmas!
Read my latest post, my goal is to fill up this guy's inbox and maybe voice mail =)
http://funqi.blogspot.com/2007/ 1...comcastnet.html
** yes, this post will only succeed in getting her more traffic, but people who refuse to acknowledge that they are not alone on the planet need a public flogging on occassion.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Is it better to know, or to not?
For the past few days, every single time the phone rang, my heart was in my throat - the updates about my dad have come in spurts -he's doing better today,
he might be moved out of ICU
he had a bad night
he's in pain
he's well enough to be moved to the new cardiac facility so they can do an exploratory thing...
The exploratory thing revealed that he needed a quadruple bypass. And some other test revealed a chronic kidney condition that will require him to be on dialysis for the rest of his life.
Or he could just pack it all in, head home and have about five weeks.
So I send this question into the great wide open - is it better to know and have that deadline looming above your head, a number stamped on your t-shirt, or is it better to not know?
on the one hand, maybe it's better to know and be able to dot every last "i" and cross every last "t" - but for the people you're leaving - does it prolong the grieving process, or give them a chance to "get used to" the concept?
And a bonus question - what's better - a life hooked up to a machine, or no life at all?
Thursday, December 20, 2007
When I was a kid, I always thought that God would look like my dad
I mean, it wasn't something I pondered a whole bunch, my church/religious experiences were sporadic at best, but if you'd asked me what God looked like, I would have described my dad - tall, thin-ish, clean cut with dark hair and dark eyes - and wearing the requisite flow-y white robe and outlined in blinding rays of sun.My stepmom called tonight to let me know that my dad is in the hospital - he's been sick for a couple of weeks, he thought it was the flu, but it turns out that it's congestive heart failure - and he only knows this because she forced him to go to the doctor (now I know where my reluctance to see a doctor unless I'm bleeding from the eyeballs comes from).
My stepmom sounded sunny and upbeat (like always) so I didn't really think it was anything serious serious, but when she said the words "living will"... I don't know - it was kind of a reality check... or something... I don't know...
Labels: adventures in shitty parenting
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Now what am I supposed to do?
(Hypothetically) For months and months, I've been anxiously anticipating the publication of Lynne Spears' book on parenting.But yesterday when the news broke that her 16-year-old daughter is pregnant, the freaking puritans who were set to publish the book have decided to shelve it indefinitely.
What the hell?
Just because two of this woman's three kids are trainwrecks, does this automatically make her a questionable parent? Come on! What year is this, 1877? I mean, why don't we just brand them all with scarlet "A"s? It's not like they've killed someone or made a living out of clubbing snuggly little baby seals.
Now how am I supposed to turn my kid into a money factory? Hey, it's not like I'm employable, I might as well make some cash off of my kid, you know? And who better to know than the woman who shoved Britney Spears into a schoolgirl uniform and some fuzzy scrunchies?
Thanks a lot, Conservatives!
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Snark the Herald Angels Sing
The other night, my kid's school had their annualI left wondering a couple of things -
1) Why do all music teachers look the same - a little ditzy, a little mousy, and still of the mindset that it's okay to wear scrunchies, even though it's not 1991
2) Why was Peter Brady there?
3) What the hell is up with this kid's hair? It's a hardcore, unapologetic mullet - on purpose - not like one of those accidental mullets that my kid will, on occasion, get if we don't keep up with his hair (which, like, every other part of him, grows like crazy)
And I was at the local aquarium the other day and happened to be looking at one of the Christmas trees they had, which was decorated with ornaments that were obviously made by kids - most were what you'd expect, but there were a few that I had to take pictures of -
and the best -
I mean, come on, y'all, if alligators and seahorses can get along, can't we all?
* no, I'm not forcing my kid to go to a church school - he goes to a public (read: free) montessori that happens to be located at a Catholic church
Labels: adventures in shitty parenting, I take pictures
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Dear Cop Who Didn't Give Me A Ticket This Morning Even Though I Didn't Have Current Proof Of Insurance,
Thank youThank you
Thank you
I really do have insurance, I just didn't have the current card on me. And, like I
xxoo,
me
p.s. I SWEAR the light was yellow when I ran it. For realz.
Labels: letter to
Monday, December 10, 2007
Dear C. U. Next Tuesday
I get that you're in a huge hurry. I've seen you zooming down the aisles of the grocery store like you're going for the grocery-shopping record or something. But the disdain dripping from your "Is there a problem?" in response to the dirty look I gave you when you RAN INTO THE BACK OF MY FOOT WITH YOUR CART AND DIDN'T ACKNOWLEDGE IT? Completely unnecessary.Also unnecessary? Your sarcastic "Oh, I'm so SORRY!" and "Are you going to be OKAY?" when I told you that you RAN INTO THE BACK OF MY FOOT WITH YOUR CART.
Go Screw Yourself,
Me
Labels: letter to
Monday, December 03, 2007
Sometimes I take the domestic goddess thing a little too seriously
like when I make homemade marshmallows... I know, what? They're $1 a bag, why would I make them?
Because I have too much time on my hands, that's why.