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The skin for the blog? It was...cute. That's it, honest! I didn't change to to reflect Babychase.
Honest!
Thanks for all the good wishes and sweetness...Dad is okay (although he's bored as hell), has a stress test tomorrow, and we'll know more then. Keep you posted.
Voodoo
So, yah.
Let's start with last night. Last night, my father was washing dishes, when he started coughing. I was in the office, getting my ass handed to me by a computer at a game of scrabble. Husbandido was in the living room watching television, and my mother was with him. I hear a feeble, "Help," from my dad. It didn't sound normal at first, and I stopped what I was doing. Husbandido, closer to my father, got up to check on him. Holding a towel to his mouth, he was coughing blood. A lot of blood. Husbandid, just having gone through traumatic events with his father, met me in the kitchen where I saw my mother helping Dad wipe up the blood. There was a lot. Husbandido said, "he's coughing blood, let's go to the hospital."
Quickly gathering ourselves out of our downtime clothes and quietly making sure we're all okay, we are out of the house in five minutes. The drive to the hospital is a blur of speed, and a quiet lecture by Mom to my Dad who I can hear wheezing behind me. Shit.
We get to the hospital, and my mom is clutching a just opened roll of paper towels, just in case. Just in case. I drop them off, and walk quickly back to the ED, and on the way run into a couple fighting, "Why you gotta bring that shit up agaaaaaaaain." Uh, I'd really like to watch this, btw, but I head up the hill to the hospital. It's fucking cold.
Text messages to and from my brother and his fiancee help keep them abreast, and we wait in the ED lobby for my dad to be called. He goes in, and my mom follows. The next hour or so that follows involves a hearty discussion on the germs that are all over the lobby, the magazines, and the crappy Hillary Duff movie that is playing on the television. It is a nice television. Must be nice to be "for profit."
We are brought back with my mom to see my dad. Stripped down and in a sexy gown, He's strapped up to a machine, oxygen tank, wires here and there. He smiled. I feel better. Mom, unsure of what to do next, wants to send us home to rest; she'll stay overnight. THe room is small, and I noticed right away he's in isolation. In my mind, this means he could possibly have something going on that is not exactly a good thing...something that's passable. The isolation unit sticks with us for the next day as well. And we are forced to wear face masks during our visits as well.
EKG. EEG. CT. XYZ. LMNOP. He gets all the tests. His BP is high, too high, really, and he has an irregular heartbeat. He is in good spirits. Hates hospitals, and hates even more being in a hospital as a patient. My brother is texting me back and forth and I know he's not taking this too seriously. Part of that stems from my dad, him not liking the whole hospital thing. I can't blame him, but it can infuriate me.
We are sent home, and I want to come back to bring a change of clothes for my mom, but she brushes me off. She wants us to get rest. It's amazing how much they put themselves aside; as we're leaving, my father tells me where the keys are, and to not forget this and that...all from behind his mask. It's okay, I tell him. I'll take care of everything.
In short, we were there today, and he is still in good spirits, he's hating his confines and being doted over, but we're all glad he's slowing down to get rest. I couldn't sleep at all last night, but seeing him in a good way helped me be okay. I feel like I can sleep tonight.
So thanks to everyone who called, everyone who texted, everyone who emailed. I really appreciate it, and I'm sorry I couldn't get back to all of you, but you're in my thoughts for reals.
There's one more thing: I was reading a horoscope that said, stop hiding out. It makes people more suspicious than they already are about what's up your sleeve. SO here's what's up that silky sleeve: I'm pregnant, 15 weeks pregnant, big ol' pregnant. The morning sickness never really was (except when I smell shrimp, and I HATE that smell anyway). I crave fruit. Fruit fruit fruit! Things that taste like FRUIT. 7-up. Gummi Bears. Sorbet.
I've been debating for weeks on how to tell you all, but this is the most bang boom way to tell you. Just say so. I'm thrilled, Husbandido and Mom and Dad are thrilled. Bros thrilled. Bird still unawares. He'll figure it out eventually.
We have an amniocentesis scheduled next month, and that's largely been stressin' me out, but I'll go into it like I do any other test. With a smile, and some chocolate to get me through afterwards. We don't know if it's a boy or girl yet, but we'll find out next month as well. This is a big month for us coming up, so I'll keep you posted.
So there you have it. Dad is doing good. I am doing good. Hope you are doing good too.
Peas,
Voodoo