With The Bad

But although the long weekend had some wonderful days, there's been some really rough stuff leading up to it.

I got a phone call late Friday night, never a good sign, especially not when it was my Mom, calling from the ER.

My Dad's fine, let me put that out there right away, but the phone call's never one you want to get.

My Dad's cardiologist had insisted that, along with not driving (and operating chainsaws, etc. were my Dad so inclined) he is to call 911 if he feels dizzy/faint over the next few weeks til we wait for his surgery date.

And while Dad's not always great at following what the doctors would like him to do, I guess after most of a day of feeling poorly, they did indeed call 911.

My parents called me once before from the ER, after someone t-boned their car, and both that time and this time they said "don't come, stay home."

Which, is completely not what I did, either time.

Not that I needed to be there, but what else could I have done, sat at home worrying? No. So I got dressed, and headed out, and kept them company.

I could tell when I got there that he wasn't in rough shape, and as weird as it may sound, the fact that he waited for hours before he got seen (after the initial triage and checkups of course) sort of relieved me. If he'd been dying right then and there, they'd probably be fussing about him a lot more and not just... ignoring him while they dealt with the seriously sick people.

When he finally did get moved from the waiting area to the area where he was monitored, it helped that the male nurse assigned to him was handsome and charming.

Well, that helped cheer me up anyway.

The ER doc that saw him was also very reassuring and kind, and thorough, and both he and the nurse insisted that if Dad had another episode like that he was to come back in.

I know, it seems counter-intuitive to be told to call 911 if you feel a certain way, only to be taken in, checked out and sent home, but that's just how it is until his surgery and he's not to be out of range of a hospital until his surgery.

I was glad it was the weekend though, as my body doesn't take to 3 am nights any more (if it ever really did) and I felt sleeping in the next morning was completely justified.

Oddly enough, the trip to the ER greatly reassured my parents. The doc told them the risk for Dad over the next few weeks of waiting was not huge as long as he didn't push himself and stayed close to 911 access. My parents also felt that having been through the "call 911" process, they're ok with doing it again. Like, they realized it wasn't that big of a deal, they got help, it all turned out ok.

Mom said they'd only called me because they forgot the gate card to get back into their complex so wouldn't have been able to get a taxi back to their place and so they needed my card. I, of course, drove them home and told them I was happy to do it again if necessary, but they say next time they'll just take a cab.

I don't know why this strikes me as so wrong, but, whatever works for them.

Maybe that was part of why the weekend felt so good. To have been through that stress (when my Mom called, I didn't know what to expect) and anxiety and long wait to have then three days of rest, relaxation, good happy times with my parents, and sunshine was a wonderful counterpoint. Magnified the good, I suppose.

Some sort of karmic balancing or something.