May 31, 2005

Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

It stands to reason that every time I go though a bad patch, there's a West Wing marathon on to calm my nerves. Of course, Bravo has virtually no programming, and reruns the West Wing, my favorite show, three or four times a day, with or without my own personal tragedies. Marathons of the West Wing on Bravo are as common as mud. That mud being top-grade, UltraClean-htpTM 96 Well soil drenched in Perrier with Lemon, but it's still mud. Awesome, artistic, captivating mud, but it's still mud.

So, when my dad was rushed to the hospital with the panic of cardiac arrest Sunday afternoon, I knew that Bravo would have a marathon waiting for me the next day.

Actually, I didn't know that, but it's funny how those things work out.

The doctors aren't sure what happened. Tests came back inconclusive, but the talk is that it wasn't a heart attack. One doctor was leaning towards an inflammation of the gall bladder, one said it was an ulcer, one said it sounded like a tumor, and another said something else.

Note to self: Don't get rushed to the hospital during a holiday weekend. Important people will be in their cabins up north or visiting family, and nothing will get accomplished other than an IV drip and some hand-holding. And while that may be comforting for a while, it gets old.

He was supposed to have angioplasty this morning, but due to complications with the procedure, he'll be having open heart surgery sometime tomorrow afternoon.

Boy, when it rains, it sure pours.

Rain, Rain, Go Away.
Here lies a most ridiculous raw youth, indulging himself in the literary graces that he once vowed to eschew. Now he just rocks out.