Dad finally got to see the heart specialist today, so there's a plus. Our last two trips that way were abortive, once because the doctor canceled the appointment and Dad didn't get the message and last week because Dad got confused about what day it is. He was disappointed that the doctor didn't say anything about Dad's shortness of breath, so that's a bummer. My thought is that shortness of breath is not surprising after congestive heart failure and that he figured that Dad being a doctor would know that. But that's only my guess.
But at least we got to an actual appointment finally, so that's a plus. On the way home, I had a good route picked out when the traffic reporter on the radio said that there was an accident ahead, so I changed routes in a hurry. We got home (well, to the motel, but that's another story) in perfectly good order, and there we see how nearly crazy or how severely childish I am.
Because I really really wanted to drop Dad off and go see if there really was an accident at the intersection in question. For all that it would be some 30 minutes after the time we heard it by the time I got there. And for all that I know from experience that accidents on radio traffic reports are often cleared up by the time the report is broadcast. There was the time that I was passing through the major intersection around the corner from my house at the time an accident was reported there and couldn't see a thing. So I'm happy to report that I didn't actually go. I like to think that means I'm not really crazy; just sort of.
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