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via http://ift.tt/2gdZgXl:sugarspiceandcursewords replied to your post “ugh I am sure my dad is fine but they are keeping him another night!…”
Family medical stuff is the worst. It’s like there are a million individual people who have to do their jobs in order for the patient to get what they need, and at least one always misses the mark and you have to watchdog friggin’ everyone.
I guess at least they caught it in time; there was discussion of whether or not to keep the digit, and he was a little alarmed, but that discussion has mostly ceased. He’s still there tonight, but thanks to some understated bullying by my mother, he was fed, at least. (He’s taken care of so well by my mother– and takes care of her in return, he carries all the baskets at the farmer’s market and stands back beaming vaguely as she has conversations, it’s too much to handle– that he hasn’t had to consider how to procure himself a meal in decades, it’s just always something that happens, and he occasionally expresses opinions but mostly considers himself fortunate whatever happens.)
Three nights in the hospital! I’m at the Fretting threshhold, which is silly, it’s just his thumb, he’s fine. It’s not like. All the horrifying terrifying deep complex things that can go wrong with a person. And he is an old man, he wasn’t young when I was born and plenty of people my age don’t have their fathers anymore. He didn’t, by my age! Neither of my grandfathers surpassed sixty! Having the same belt size as he did in 1969 and still being spry enough to do pretty hard physical labor does not make him not 73.
And I can’t help watchdog, I am uselessly 300 miles away, being the one on the text conversation that can’t handle it.
I’m considering texting him cheerful memes but he’s so new to smartphone usage, I think he’ll be puzzled by them more than cheered.
I was going to say, I’m such a daddy’s girl, but that’s absolutely not the case, there aren’t convenient phrases for healthy relationships. I just have a generally really good relationship with my father, who despite having inexplicable political views I can’t at all parse, is extremely loving and supportive and has always understood me pretty well and encouraged me in useful ways, and I can’t bear the thought of him being old, and more importantly, what that means about the coming years.
Family medical stuff is the worst. It’s like there are a million individual people who have to do their jobs in order for the patient to get what they need, and at least one always misses the mark and you have to watchdog friggin’ everyone.
I guess at least they caught it in time; there was discussion of whether or not to keep the digit, and he was a little alarmed, but that discussion has mostly ceased. He’s still there tonight, but thanks to some understated bullying by my mother, he was fed, at least. (He’s taken care of so well by my mother– and takes care of her in return, he carries all the baskets at the farmer’s market and stands back beaming vaguely as she has conversations, it’s too much to handle– that he hasn’t had to consider how to procure himself a meal in decades, it’s just always something that happens, and he occasionally expresses opinions but mostly considers himself fortunate whatever happens.)
Three nights in the hospital! I’m at the Fretting threshhold, which is silly, it’s just his thumb, he’s fine. It’s not like. All the horrifying terrifying deep complex things that can go wrong with a person. And he is an old man, he wasn’t young when I was born and plenty of people my age don’t have their fathers anymore. He didn’t, by my age! Neither of my grandfathers surpassed sixty! Having the same belt size as he did in 1969 and still being spry enough to do pretty hard physical labor does not make him not 73.
And I can’t help watchdog, I am uselessly 300 miles away, being the one on the text conversation that can’t handle it.
I’m considering texting him cheerful memes but he’s so new to smartphone usage, I think he’ll be puzzled by them more than cheered.
I was going to say, I’m such a daddy’s girl, but that’s absolutely not the case, there aren’t convenient phrases for healthy relationships. I just have a generally really good relationship with my father, who despite having inexplicable political views I can’t at all parse, is extremely loving and supportive and has always understood me pretty well and encouraged me in useful ways, and I can’t bear the thought of him being old, and more importantly, what that means about the coming years.
