I hate dramatising situations like this, or posting situations like this gratuitously. I am sharing this experience, yes, but it's mostly for me to document and look back on. To go back to and see his progress or his decline. And to provide a record of the man I call Dad.
Today I got to the hospital at 8am. I went to his room to check on his status and see if Kay wanted breakfast. I took her order and headed down to the plaza I work in. I wasn't in any mood for taking chances with cafe's I'm not familiar with and ending up with a $5 cup of crap coffee, so I decided to go with what I know. My gorgeous girls in Cibo. I got our coffees, (extra shots in each) and some ham and cheese croissant, and while they got my order ready, I popped into the nearby newsagent for a paper, about six different magazines and a pack of Kent, then picked up the food and back to the hospital.
After Kay and I ate, we both fell asleep in the visitor's lounge and then Dad's neurologist arrived. The good news is, the fact that Dad didn't die last night means there is a good chance he'll survive. It's still touch and go between now and Monday, so we'll know more then.
Dad had another CT scan today and the clot in his brain hasn't grown. He's still having moments of clarity peppered with moments of confusion, but his sense of humour is rock solid, even when his suffering is truly evident.
This afternoon, mum came for a visit and Kay had gone home to shower, feed the dogs and get her diabetes meds. It was surreal to be the original family unit again. Dad, mum, me, Lil. Mum and dad even reminisced over some crazy woman they used to know in the 60s....
I began typing this hours ago. My brain has ceased to function normally, so I'll finish later.
~ A