Got a call from Mom this morning letting me know that Dad had a(nother) heart attack this morning, that he is “okay”, that they aren’t going to do any kind of surgery, but they have him on medication and are putting him in a room. A hospital room, not a padded room. (Me, you can put me in the padded room.)
I am posting this primarily to let you all know why I will be wonky for a little while. Because as you might predict (or recall), as paternal medical notifications go, daughter wonkiness follows.
Update: He’s in emergency still, but he’s feeling better and the only reason he doesn’t have a regular bed in a cardiac room yet is that cardiac is full and they don’t have anywhere to put the person whose bed he will be occupying. Yes. Um. He sounded really fine on the phone, though he had a pretty awesome headache—awesome enough that the nurse came and gave him morphine. I talked to him for a little while before he went all morphine-y. They’re going to wait a few days before taking him to the cath lab out of concern for his kidneys, but at that point maybe we’ll know more about what’s up.
Choice quotes: “The only problem is, I don’t have a bed yet… I have to sit on the floor…”
Update, July 23: He has a bed in intensive care now, which is something! Apparently the kidney person came after we all talked yesterday and decided they should do the catheterization sooner than later… I have no idea how that happened, but they gave him some kind of meds last night and he went to the cath lab at about 9:30 this morning (their time), and is scheduled for 11:30. Mom is sounding slightly fragile but okay. My head hurts. Ow. (Do I get morphine?)
Note: He wasn’t actually ever sitting on the floor. I promise. (??!)
Update, July 23 Noonish: Of the veins they grafted in 2001, one had closed up two years ago and another one has closed as of this catheterization. Three of them are big and okay. With medicine they think they can keep everything stable and he’ll be fine. So they can’t really do heart surgery to unplug anything—you can only have heart surgery so many times, I suppose. Three, I guess, is enough. I feel dissatisfied and uneasy. This is not a fun game.