Today

Dad claims he didn't know what he was doing when he pulled the feeding tube from his nose, but I don't buy it. He'd asked about it before, and since no one was doing anything, he took care of it at an opportune moment. So far, the man, who has a heart condition, has been fed eggs and bacon for breakfast (after having a breathing tube for two days and which caused him a set back when he aspirated some of it) and for dinner, steak and baked potato. I'm sure he's happy, but I find their nutritional objectives odd.

He is moved to a floor with "telemetry" for his heart, and I hear back to his old lovable and somewhat cranky self, which means he's healing. Now, to get him on his feet. Tomorrow, I'll be on duty at the hospital. Dh and the girls will hold down the fort.

I spent today with my family. Lauren had two doctors appointments, one to follow up on her dental surgery to remove wisdom teeth, and one to see about the allergic reaction she had to the prescribed antibiotic. Her entire trunk is an itchy, blotchy rash. This is the third medication we've found that caused her to have such a rash. She is not very comfortable, and all there is to do is Benedryl, oatmeal baths and time. Poor baby.

But again, I am supported by friends and humor. Perhaps such difficult times are God's way of reminding us of what is important in life, and how very rich our lives are and can be even in the face of hard times.

A Habit I Do Not Need

In the hospital lobby, there is a Starbucks stand. I've never understood paying a minimum of $1.50 for just the smallest cup of coffee, but neither do I like the vending machine which drops a cup and fills it with a liquid that is hot and brown, but somehow not really coffee. At the Starbucks counter, people stand in line five deep each morning for their lattes and grandes. Strange gurglings and grunts come from behind the counter as the man in front of me orders some concoction. The sounds are not too unlike the ones I've listened to all night at my dad's beside. The too jovial coffee barrister expects a tip, loudly thanking each tipping customer who drops change in her obvious jar.

I take my black, nothing in it, no whipped cream, no steam, no cinnamon or chocolate shavings. Just coffee please. She hands me a cup and I have to pour my own from pumping thermos's. the barrister keeps the nickel change with a smile. I walk the long corriders back and sit with dad, sipping the coffee. At that point, I'd had no sleep for 24 hours. After my coffee, I felt I could fly a jet plane without fuel. I had learned the secret.

Notes:
The ventilator has been turned back to encourage dad to breathe more on his own. I sit and watch him breathe.

The wind chill makes it feel like less than 0 degrees F. The hospital is so insulated from the world, I don't feel it. I worry about my chickens going outside back home.