Visiting my father in the hospital this afternoon. (And it was "this afternoon" rather than this morning: I had some Very Important Lazing About The House to do today.)
He seems to be in good spirits. He hasn't eaten anything. Doylestown Hospital will have to learn to accommodate my father's eating patterns: he has tea for breakfast; tea, and donuts for lunch; and for dinner he has whatever protein and vegetables I manage to sneak into something he likes.
Mostly he's sleeping, which is good. He shares his room with a guy named Brad who doesn't seem to be taking much of an interest in the complaining old man in the bed next to him, focused as he is on some problem or other with his pancreas. His nurse, Nurse Kat, seems competent and pleasant.
His surgery is scheduled for tomorrow at 2:45 p.m., although there seem to be some nodules in his lungs that the doctors are worried about. They wanted to schedule a CAT scan to investigate them further, but then realized that since my father's leg is in traction, that would be problematic. So they might just go through with it regardless. (That seems pretty amateurish to me.)
My father and I chatted and passed the time. Then he turned on the television so he could catch the news. I filled him in on the results of the elections yesterday. He's worried about thunderstorms tonight, although given the fact that he's in a hospital, he has absolutely nothing to worry about there.
My Dad is still very much my Dad. I told him I was writing down the phone number in his room to pass on to my brother, his son, so that my brother, his son, could give him a call.
"No!" my father said, "Don't give out my phone number to anybody! I don't want any phone calls here."
Uhhh... What's up, Dad?
He explained himself: "Mostly I sleep. And when the phone rings, it wakes me up. I have enough that's bothering me."
When I reported this to my brother, he was nonplussed. "I've known him for longer than you have," he said, "and nothing surprises me at this point."
Tonight, while I watch Project Runway, I'm going to bake those brownies. When I stop in to see him on Friday, after his surgery, I'll bring them to him. That should brighten his day. Perhaps he'll even reconsider not accepting phone calls from my brother.