Last Thursday my dad went to the hospital to check on his heart. He hadn’t been feeling well for the past few months and wanted to know what was going on.
The doctors found several(!) blockages in the arteries surrounding his heart. They told him he had to stay in the hospital because one of his arteries – not the one that was huge and completely blocked – was so dangerous that he couldn’t leave as a precaution. He stayed the weekend at the hospital, and is now having a triple bypass to fix the errors(!) of his ways.
I have been calm about this whole situation for its duration. I have been consistently positive about the situation because I remind myself how much worse it could have been. We are fortunate the problems he has were found this way, and not some other way(!)…
…and I haven’t really told anyone. I haven’t really talked to anyone who wouldn’t directly care about the situation until right now. Well, technically, I still haven’t, considering how many people read this blog. Ha ha.
And that’s the way I’d like to keep it.
From the moment he was admitted to the hospital, my stepmom and sister have been hard at work letting everyone who knows my dad know what is going on. I suppose that is an important thing to do, and I know he has appreciated all the love and support, including all the people who have come to visit him at the hospital and wish him well.
I was entirely, justifiably, afraid of their potential to get carried away however. I was afraid of – and fully prepared to become very angry about – my sister posting some very private information very publicly over the internet. Private information that could be skeeewed – not so subtly – to allow sympathy for someone who doesn’t really deserve it. Well wishes and prayers for the person who isn’t directly affected.
You know anyone like that? I do. And I…don’t like them for it.
So I spent from Thursday to basically Sunday not talking to anyone about it except for Ashley. Well, Ashley and my sister(!) and stepmom. I was directly opposed to that “sympathy call” I would be making, so I did the farthest thing from it I could.
I finally called my one friend (who entirely admires and loves my dad) on Sunday to tell him what was going on. To say he was shocked would be to say I’m not rich. Did that work? I don’t know.
He was beyond shocked. He was almost mortified. I was fully surprised by this. He said he wanted to come see my dad, and I told him I’d bring him after the surgery to see him. He wished my dad well.
Was I wrong about how I felt about this whole thing? I called another friend on Monday and just threw what was happening with my dad in the conversation.
More mortification ensued. He wished him well also.
Had I been taking this too lightly? I mean, I’m thankful he’s not dead, that they caught this problem before it was too late! That’s all I have been is thankful. I have not been a wreck like my sister, and even when I heard the news I felt less than shock. I would venture to say I kind of expected it.
So am I thankful they found the problem and are fixing it before something terrible happened? Yes. The surgery itself is actually pretty low-risk as well – only about a one percent chance of some serious side effect taking place is possible, considering his youth (he’s sixty)(!).
It is splitting his chest open to work on his heart though. That is scary. I was in the shower last night and imagined the same thing happening to me. Made me a little queasy I must say.
Regardless of the fear, the risk (be it low or high), the situation my dad finds himself in and the emotions swirling around it, I still find myself afraid and angry about someone(s) I know using the situation as a platform to gain personal sympathy. That is where I am storing most of my anger, and where I am stationing my soapbox at this moment.
And of course my prayers are with my dad at this moment, but I know he’ll be fine. He doesn’t need my prayers, he needs good doctors – and he’s got that.