Poppy Mom

Titles are for people with enough energy to stay awake while driving

I'm beat.

We just got back from visiting my dad in Columbia. He's doing as well as can be expected, but feels like shit. I mean, imagine how you would feel if someone sliced open your leg, took out a couple of veins, then sliced open your chest, stopped your heart, deflated your lungs, attatched the leg veins to your arteries, jump-started your heart, aired up your lungs like a set of Goodyears, and then spent an hour sewing you up. He's getting by with the help of Sweet Lady Morphine, which is making him a little squirrely. For example:

A physician's assistant was testing Dad's blood sugar levels, which is pretty standard even though Dad doesn't have diabetes. He looked at the p.a. and said, "But I don't want to have diabetes." Because, in Morphineville, testing for diabetes gives you diabetes.

He had quite a crowd of visitors today. My grandparents, great-aunt, Dad's sister and her husband, and one of his buddies. Of course, his best friend Knock-Knock has been there a bunch. I think he's spending as much time as possible at the hospital so he doesn't have to be at home with Chigger.

(Unfortunately my archives are broken, so for those of you who might be new to the poppymom diminsion: In November Knock-Knock gave my dad an Australian Cattle Dog puppy, which is really just the American term for a wild dingo. Chigger enjoys spending time with my dad, herding the horses, indoor defecation, mauling faces, and eating tennis balls. Chigger recently ate a dishtowel then howled when he had to poop it out. Apparently my mom needs to quit using that cheap store-brand fabric softener and switch to something a little more dog ass-friendly.)

Needless to say, Knock-Knock is finding out that paybacks are hell as he dog-sits Chigger during Dad's hospital stay. Chigger has been eating Knock-Knock's son's art supplies, which has led to some rather colorful and decorative indoor defecation. One such masterpiece was created minutes before Knock-Knock's real estate agent arrived with prospective buyers for his house.

Knock-Knock also made the mistake of letting Chigger join him in the bathroom, where the dog mistook Knock-Knock's urine stream for his outdoor garden hose drinking fountain.

Anyway, we didn't spend much time with Dad today, since he was feeling so terrible. He mainly wanted to sleep, and who can blame him?

Knock-Knock, more than anyone else, is wishing my dad a speedy recovery. A really speedy recovery.

Fans of my grandpa Chuck will be happy to know that he dined with Clara "French Fry Bandit" Jane. They split a huge order of fries and then he gave her a $10 bill and said, "Tell your mom to take you to McDonald's and buy you $10-worth of fries." Chuck doesn't talk much, but damn if he can't spend an hour talking about French fries with a one-year-old.

Dad's got a long recovery ahead of him. He's not going back to work for 12 weeks, and there is some talk of retirement. Basically, I think it's safe to say that his life is never going to be the same. I'm hoping that the improvement to his health from this surgery will be worth it.

During the drive home I realized I was coming very close to falling asleep at the wheel. B. took over and I promptly fell asleep in the passenger seat and didn't wake up until we were almost home. It was a day of doing very little, physically, but on the inside I feel like I've run a marathon.

But at least I'm not dealing with paint-speckled dog poop.

Posted by Robin at February 27, 2005 09:15 PM | TrackBack