I got “the call” again today.
“The call” my own little name for the phone call I get from a family
member to inform me that Dad has yet again wound up in the hospital. As
I’ve probably mentioned dozens of times before in this blog, the
“perfect storm” of diabetes, a heart condition and lowered immunity
because of the anti-rejection drugs he has to take for his kidney
transplant means that keeping Dad’s health in balance is like trying to
keep a marble on balanced on the head of a pin by blowing at it from
Long story short: last night, after we had our regular Sunday family
meal (a special treat this time: lunch at Dynasty for dim sum), Dad
didn’t feel like eating dinner. This morning, he took a turn for the
worse and got taken to the hospital, where he had some kind of cardiac
attack. Luckily — it feels strange to use the word “luckily” in this
context — he just happened to be in the right place at the right time.
The appropriate measures were taken, and Dad spent the afternoon
He woke up at about 5:30 this afternoon and saw me by his bedside.
“So,” he asked immediately after coming to, “Is the wedding still on? You can’t back out now that your mother has bought her dress.”
(That’s his favourite joke; he says it every time he sees me.)
and the Tucows human resources staff for understanding that I’ve got to
blaze out of the office and into the hospital every now and again.