And How Are We Today?

I got off work at Ho(t)me(n) Depot at 10 p.m. tonight and headed to Doylestown Hospital.

My father's orthopedic surgeon called after the operation to let me know that everything went well, but there was an issue. During the pre-op, my father had a chest x-ray, and they found some nodules in his lungs. To my surprise, my father had a chest x-ray at some point in the past few years--I was way out of the loop on that somehow--and he didn't have the nodules then. So there's the possibility that my father has lung cancer. After things settle out from the operation, they're going to look into that.

(Note: my father has lung cancer. Perhaps those of you who know my affinity for smoking are wondering if this is giving me thoughts of quitting. I have to admit that the reverse is true. My father is eighty-two years old. So, like, if I keep smoking I won't live to see eighty-five? I could probably tolerate that. That said, I probably won't be smoking for too much longer. Like not too much more than a decade or so. But enough about me.)

Let me just say that wherever my life takes me, wherever I happen to be, when the time comes that I have to go to a hospital, I'm going to see if I can arrange to get to Doylestown Hospital. Visiting hours there are noon to 8 p.m. I showed up there at about twenty after ten. Problem? Uh uh. They found the room my father was in, and the security guy gave me a special badge that would allow me to get up to the room, after calling up and clearing it with the nurses.

So cool!

All alone, I found my way through the otherwise deserted hallways of Doylestown Hospital up to the acute care ward on the fourth floor. And there was my dad! He got the bed by the door this time.

Honestly, he sure didn't look like a guy who had surgery earlier that day. He told me that it still hurt, although they were still being pretty liberal with the pain medication. His new nurse, Nurse Amy, came in to give him a new bag of sucrose or whatever it is and to check his vitals, which were good. While she was in the room... Well, let me express it this way.

Me: So Dad, I baked some brownies for you last night. I get off work tomorrow at seven and I'll bring some brownies for you then.

My Dad: No! I have no appetite! I haven't been eating anything. And I don't anything to eat.

Nurse Amy: Wait! We're talking about brownies here! And you've just had surgery and by seven o'clock tomorrow you'll probably have an appetite then.

Me: She has a point Dad.

My Dad: Well, okay. You can bring the brownies for me.

When I got home, the house was dark. As in, totally dark. No lights on at all. Faithful Companion seemed a little bit cheesed off by this. When I came through the back door, I could here him making his way through the dark house, bumping into furniture. Faithful Companion has a really hard head. And I don't think he's very bright. He bumps into things fairly often. Once when I was walking him in Jersey City, he was looking over his shoulder and sort of grinning back at me, his tongue lolling in his mouth, and he walked right into a lamp post so that it made this Roadrunner and Coyote cartoon sounding Dunnnnnng noise. I laughed loud and long at my poor dog.

I hate coming home to a dark house. I used to resent my father for not leaving the light on in the kitchen for me. But even when I would come into a dark kitchen, the floor light would always be on in the livingroom. Tonight, of course, no lights were on at all, because for the third time in four and a half years, I was coming home to a house where no one was home.

From here on, I'll remember to leave the light on in the kitchen when I'm leaving in the morning.