Adventures in Daddyland, Florida!

So, if you've been keeping up, you know that two days ago, Uncle Dan said "come tomorrow"... which we did.

If you know my Daddy at all, you know that he is Not Concerned with his Own Health really, at all, beyond taking his prescription, non-narcotic/non-barbiturate/non-addictive Rx meds that have been appropriately prescribed. Oh, well, yeah, that and alcoholic beverages because... #UmYeahAlcoholismInTheFamilyAndIDontMindAndImOldSoSTFU

It's all right, Daddy. I hear ya. #UmYeahAlcoholismInTheFamilyAndIKindaLikeItAndImAMixologistSoSTFU... I won't allow either of us to endanger anyone else.

So, Uncle Dan. I had been led to believe, by my "old" and alcoholic-but-also-retired-RN Daddy, that Uncle Dan was likely on his "last leg". We drove over there yesterday at lunchtime, but not for lunch. We had been instructed to come "having had" (that's typical of film sets, btw), because Uncle Dan only eats when he's hungry. Still... I didn't want to arrive without food, in case our visit might be (normal for me but) on the long side for either of the older men (older than ME, of course). So, since Daddy's female bff kept emptying her fridge and pantry in our general direction before the grand bff departure back to Canada, I just packed all of the non-perishables back into the grocery bag she'd left with us, and when Uncle Dan greeted us at the door, I warned him,

"Beware of Geeks Bearing Gifts." I don't think he got it. That's okay. He accepted my grocery bag, and after hugs and sit-downs, I never saw that bag again.

Let me just say here that TheOnlyThing that bothers me about Daddy's life on the golf course is that he lives about a million miles away from anyone who matters to him. Sure, he's either walking- or golfcart- distance to his grocery, pharmacy, liquor store, Domino's Pizza, and GYM/Golf Course... but people about whom he cares? That's a drive in a car. That bothers me, at least a little.

***** Uncle Dan Is Not On His Last Leg And Stepping Into His Grave!!!!!***** Just in case you were worried. Sure, he's short as fuck. Sure, he's still (obviously) grieving the loss of his wife. If he can manage to go out into his backyard and inspect the avocados growing on the top branches of his tree without faceplanting in the dirt, I imagine he'll make it past the first year. And if he makes it that far, it will be a little easier, day-by-day, for him to get in a car and visit Daddy, or get on with his life, and survive well into the next Decade, as his younger brother has managed to do. You Go, BOYO! (btw, he and Daddy worked out an "accountability" system, where Uncle Dan sends two texts per day: morning "okay" {or other descriptor} and evening "okay"... with day/time on the message)

That was a pretty short visit, considering we had to drive across Egypt to get there. That's okay... that's my own issue, and I'm all right "owning" that as an issue.

TODAY, after I went to bed at a reasonable hour and awoke TEN hours later (I was exhausted), I came downstairs, heated some corned beef hash for bofus (*"both of us"), and overheard Daddy on the phone with his primary doc's appt/receptionist "desk"... he made an appointment to be seen today at 2:00 p.m. Hmm... in the meantime, we watched two Doctor Who Reboot issues, "Doomsday" and "Runaway Bride". Yay!

On our way out the door, he "confessed" that he'd awoken at 2:30 this morning unable to breathe. Well, unable to catch a full breath. What I'd classify as 50-60% lung capacity breathing, he, as a retired nurse, put at 85-90%. FINE. It FEELS like only filling one lung! Ennyhoo...

We saw Dr. Cooke, and just as I suspected, bff's protestations of "bullshit" whenever he took Daddy to the doc were a bit "glossed over" (probably more by Daddy than doc, but what can doc do if Daddy doesn't agree?), and my input as "middle child" daughter were met with "is this true, Jerry? Whaddya wanna do about it?" ... and I told the doc EVERYTHING that Daddy had "confessed" to me, so...

So Dr. Cooke called over to the hospital ER triage nurse, and ordered a battery of tests, and once we found our way there, we waited less than an hour before they "admitted" him to a room (in the ER) so they could get the ER doc to order said battery of tests.

It was the ER. Things only move as quickly as they can, considering everyone in there is in a bit of an "emergency" situation. Still, his nurse, Andy, was awesome. The doc was as attentive as she need be (but also pretty damn awesome for someone who wouldn't be spending much time with him). Every phlebotomist and tech and orderly we dealt with was awesome. For being there 5 1/2 hours, we were never neglected or treated rudely or unkindly or rushed. In fact, I had to remind Daddy once to be a little "nicer" with the aortic phlebotomist, because I could tell she was new enough to not "get" the sarcasm of a retired RN! Bless her heart, she was sweet, but thinner-skinned than I! (not that I'm thin-skinned, so wth am I saying?)

I began a group text with the family. Uncle Terry didn't recognize all the phone numbers, so he called me back. Just about everyone else group-texted. It felt really good to be able to relay info in real time, even if my medical background is limited. When this test or that test was being run, or we were waiting for results, or now we had results and were just waiting for discharge, all along, if I knew something new, so did the group text. And everyone had something to contribute, so conversation wasn't just one-way. While Daddy and I waited for his discharge, he wrote on the whiteboard: "Andy is a good nurse, even though he is Air Force". When Andy saw the note, he laughed, and whispered to Daddy, "Get the fuck outta my ER, Marine" (or something equally funny and apropos).

My last text message out (after listening to the rental car's computer voice read female bff's and InnerHippie's incoming texts) was "we're home, and we're ingesting proteins and carbs like crazy people, because it's been 10-11 hours since we've had more than a sip of water"... then Daddy took his nite-nite meds, hit the sack shortly after that, and once I'd caught up my Twitter peeps on the sitch, I started this blog.

It's not as late as it has been (of late), so that's good. I'm tired because I spent 6 hours in an icebox. But Daddy has Nothing Wrong With Him *medically, which means, after we've checked in with Dr. Cooke again, and filled the Rx for a rescue inhaler like mine, I'm free to try to get him walking the block again!

Poor Daddy. He probably feels he'd have been better off if he'd been have a stroke or MCI. Oh, well. Too bad, so sad. Suck it up, Buttercup. You-n-me are gonna be walkin' erryday, until you're strong enough to swing a golf club again. I honestly don't care, as long as you find an activity you can and WANT to do without keeling over!