Folks have been really nice in asking how my dad is doing, and I could just say "He's fine – seems to be recovering nicely", but that just feels inaccurate. It doesn't really cover it for me. My father and I have a special relationship. I'm a smaller, sharper, younger version of him. So how's my dad doing? Well, lemme tell ya' …
I visited my folks today to drop off a bunch of magazines that I know my mom will enjoy reading. (It's my habit to buy magazines while I travel, and I've been traveling quite a bit lately.) My dad will be going into the hospital tomorrow morning, where his doctor will do a procedure that should allow the upper chambers of his heart to come back into rhythm with the lower chambers of his heart. It involves introducing a shock wave into my dad's chest from the outside, so there's no surgery involved, but I'd be less than honest if said that I wasn't nervous about it.
Of all the things my dad is fearless about, electricity has NEVER been one of them. He's had more than his fair share of accidental jolts (I remember one when his watch band hit a node from the car battery – learned LOTS of new swear words that day) so he has MASSIVE respect for electricity.
He told me about the procedure and then joked "so, ya' know, if you wanna give my Christmas present now, I'd understand". Because I'm his daughter, I responded with "well, the good news will be that if it works out, you'll be outta of the woods for a while. If it doesn't go well – then heck, I'll get the Corvette before the end of the year!"
He laughed and then showed me a side effect of one of his blood-thinning medications – a blotch of dead skin that's formed on his left arm. His doctor was VERY concerned about this reaction to his meds, because that patch is not gonna grow back. "So, wadda they gonna do then? Take a skin graft from your ass?" I asked. "I mean 'cause that's the biggest target". "No, I told them to take it from your thighs" he responded. "Better mass and lots of fat. Oh and hey – I've been sober for a whole month now. Wadda think of that?" "Gee, that's great, Dad. Really – that's great. Ya' miss it?" "A little – but you know something? Your mom is not as much fun when I'm sober. You're still on the wagon, right?" "Yeah – still am", I responded.
I wanted to add "… and I didn't have to almost die to make that choice", but the thing about joking with my dad is knowing when NOT to. This will be my dad's first sober Thanksgiving since I was in high school. And I'll raise my glass of milk to that.
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