Drained

So I was going to write about some unimportant and frivolous things like how The Mr and I are seeing Avenue Q tonight at the Hippodrome Theatre in Baltimore or about my crazy adventure at the Verizon store last night and with their phone activation system (seriously - I was expecting them to request an f'n stool sample from me because it was such a pain in the ass) but I'm not.

I haven't been super vocal about my dad's health situation. I've casually dropped it in conversation that tomorrow he's going to have surgery where the docs will attempt to repair an aneurysm in his heart. Am I going out Saturday night..? Oh, um... maybe? My dad is having surgery on Friday. or I'm going to be out of the office tomorrow. My plans? I'll be at the hospital.

It's just something I have difficulty talking about. I hate being emotional. And I don't want sympathy. Yeah yeah yeah... if I didn't want to talk about it, why am I blogging about it? I don't know. Writing stuff down is like therapy, I guess.

Some of you may or may not know that about 7 years ago my dad had a heart attack. That same day, he had a stroke. He was in a coma for days. I was just turning 20 and it was the first time I had ever seen my dad in that position. It was the first time I had seen the amazing strength of my mother and it was also the first time I had seen her crumble. It was the first time I saw my brother cry.

I didn't really show a lot of emotion at that time. I withdrew from people. I spent a lot of time crying at home (only Angie saw me) and was overcome with guilt. Guilt about not spending more time with him. Guilt for not listening to his stories. Guilt for everything.

Well, fast forward to today. He lived although I'd say he's a shell of what he used to be. His health has been steadily declining and I think I've spent a good portion of this time in denial. I mean, he's my dad. He's indestructable.

In September he called me to tell me about the aneurysm in his heart. Its taken THIS LONG for the doctors to agree that he was ready for surgery. See - his cardiologist doesn't think he can survive having his chest cracked open so he found a doc that is doing it another way (it amazes me how far medicine has come).

He goes in today for a spinal tap and they'll keep him overnight. Tomorrow is the surgery. I stopped by last night to say hello and to pick up a package. I watched him eat a giant piece of cake (he claimed he was getting his fill before the surgery!). I watched his hand shake uncontrollably as he was holding a piece of the cake on his fork (its gotten much worse of the years... the shaking). And I saw fear in his eyes, despite his smile.

What did I do? I left. And now I'm overcome with guilt all over again. I should have stayed. I should have talked about nonsense with him. But I couldn't. I don't do so well in those situations. I talked pleasantly about the movie on TV and kissed him goodbye saying that we just had to get paint from Home Depot.

He called me today to let me know where he'll be for the surgery tomorrow. He said that my mom couldn't stay overnight with him tonight but he was glad that I would be with her tomorrow. He also asked that while he's recovering from the surgery (I'm glad he's optimistic!) that I pick up a new Christmas Tree for them. He asked for a large, full (fake) tree with multi-colored lights. He said he wanted to see a nice tree when he got home.

I try to smile when I tell people about the situation and say, "yeah, its no big deal" but I am really fucking scared.

And while I may have bolted early last night, I still felt compelled to snap a photo of my dad.


And yes, they haven't updated their kitchen since 1985.