Decisions decisions

    Baptist would like to boot Dad out pretty soon, as in today or tomorrow. Not out on the street or anything; just to HealthSouth's rehab facility near Palmetto Richland. Dad would rather stay. It doesn't help that he seems so groggy and his speech sounds garbled. We know that he's completely in there and capable of making his own decisions, but the representatives of both facilities are more likely to treat him like a child.
    The question is how much physical therapy will he get at Healthsouth compared to Baptist. At Baptist, they're just visiting in the morning. If at HealthSouth they give him therapy more nearly all day, that would be better. He needs a lot of physical therapy; he is very very very weak indeed.
    Malcolm (Jr.) says that the Palmetto Baptist social worker said that since he's already on the physical therapy floor, he's got an inside track to stay if he wants to. (6/2 edit: I must have misheard, as it turned out he wasn't on the physical therapy floor. Anyway, things turned out well.) I'm unclear what's best for him. The care at Baptist is a little short of perfect, but it certainly isn't bad. I've heard good things about HealthSouth and I've known people who went there, but I don't have any intimate knowledge of the facility. My preference is to respect Dad's wishes, but I also want his rehabilitation to go as quickly as possible. I guess I'll ask representatives of both facilities where that can best happen, and decide accordingly. Knock on wood.

A simple quiet life

    I have a simple quiet life, which I enjoy deeply. You could call it boring. If you call it pathetic, I won't fight you over it. I read a lot and write a little. I do nearly all my own cooking. I play with the kitty and get yelled at by her for infractions against the Kitty Code that I wasn't aware I was committing. (As I don't speak Kitty, I still don't know what they are.) Maybe it isn't an exciting life, but I like it.
    My dad's situation is scary because it means changes sooner or later. We hope for later and much later at that. The deal was that he was going to live to 100 and we're holding him to that. When he dies, maybe I'll be rich; I haven't done the math. But I'd much rather stay poor and have my dad. The simple quiet life is enough for me.
    Yesterday in Dadville went well. He walked around in the morning with the physical therapist. He said he needed a lot of help to walk, but as I pointed out, it hasn't even been a week since the operation. He ate a lot better and he slept a lot better and he seemed in good spirits. Obviously, we'd rather see an instantaneous recovery, but stability is good, too. We are still hopeful for a near-complete recovery in the longer run.

Grownup stuff

    Although none of us were present to witness it, Dad apparently got out of bed and walked around his hospital room with a walker (and at least one physical therapist) yesterday morning. Malcolm and Bill were there to see him sitting up in one of the chairs in the room for some hours, though. By the time I got there, he was quite tired, but still pretty lucid and eating fairly well. (It's hospital food, man.)
    I'm continuing to try to do the grownup stuff of paying his bills. He explained his system, where he writes the due date and "PA" on the envelope, then when he pays the bill he adds "ID" (making "PAID," in case that isn't painfully clear). However, it turns out that the date he writes isn't the actual due date, but his personal paying date a week in advance. So it turned out I didn't as I'd thought need to pay any bills yesterday, which let me go visit earlier than I'd expected. Also I got to update the guy across the street on Dad's condition, as the fellow came to ask when I got in my car. As the news is pretty good, that was fun, too.

Putting my two cents in

    Today's Dad update is MUCH much more cheerful. He's out of ICU, in a private room with no restrictions on visitors (ICU only allowed two at a time) and pretty largely lucid. (Don't move his coffee!) He is in very good cheer and visiting is a lot more fun.
    He was also a lot more clear on his system for bill-paying, so clear that I found that I'd better go to his house and make sure that I hadn't missed any unpaid bills. The only one that was unpaid and near due turned out to be for two cents. Apparently, he never, ever uses his cell phone unless somebody calls him. Somebody did. Though it was someone from Massachusetts, Malcolm didn't recognize the number as belonging to either him, Anne or nephew James. Dad's previous bill had been for 8 cents some time last year. He actually cut a check for that one and mailed it in, but I just couldn't. I took the bill over to the business office and gave them their two cents. The receptionist was tickled and gave me a photocopy of the remittance stub as a receipt. Whiiiich cost them more than two cents, but what the hey? I thought it was pretty cool all the way around.

Dad update

    Yesterday wasn't particularly good. At about 7:30 in the morning, before visiting hours, Dad had a seizure and quit breathing. They got him breathing again, and are giving him anti-seizure medication, but it's pretty scary. He still hasn't been able to eat much, and he's still throwing up most of what he does eat. (They're also giving him anti-emetics.) By the time I got there in the afternoon, he was mostly quiet. He did remember to tell me (and quite clearly) that "since I'm incapacitated" (a pretty good word for somebody who might otherwise be called catatonic) I (John) need to pay the bills. He also told me where the bills are and where our joint checkbook is. He also asked (brother) William if he'd taken out the trash, which would have been more impressive had William been in the room at the time. However, William had been there fairly recently, so we'll cut him a little slack.
    So not the best birthday imaginable. Birthday wishes from Facebook friends helped morale a lot. Brother Malcolm took William and me out to Mai Thai, which was highly wonderful. Then sister Anne and nephew James made it down from Boston. After ICU visiting hours ended at 10, Anne, James and Malcolm came over for a while for further birthday celebrations. I provided portable baklava, which went over well. And Anne and Malcolm had succeeded in getting Dad to take a little food and drink, so that was a happy ending, too. So not the worst birthday imaginable either.

Jeremiah Healy

    About five years back I picked up a Best Mystery Stories collection, as I was looking for a new series author to follow. I was fairly unimpressed, but liked a fellow called Jeremiah Healy very much. He mostly wrote about a Boston detective named John Francis Cuddy. The series, the character and the author were all fairly popular during the '90s. However, fame and popularity in the book trade are transitory and by the mid-oughts his work was pretty hard to find, even when I looked in New England used book stores. I only ever found one of his novels. I liked it but not to the point of Tolkien-level rereadings.
    His schtick was that Cuddy's wife had died, and Cuddy still carried a torch. In fact, he would go to her grave and carry on conversations with her, including about his new girlfriend. It sounds twee; hell, it is twee. But it's also surprisingly effective, and affecting. I wish I could write about feelings a tenth as well.
    I don't know why it took me so long to think, "What if I look in the library?" When I did, I found that nearly all his books are there. It turns out that he quit the Cuddy series in 1999 (after killing off the girlfriend, too), and started writing a different series under the name Terry Devane. I haven't looked at those yet, but they have a female protagonist. I'll look forward to finding out if she does any grave visiting.

Sweetest relief

    So Dad's surgery went really, really well. A few hours later, he was talking, clearly and cogently. He knew who he was and where he was and that he hadn't eaten since 5 pm the previous day. (Dangit!) My brother Malcolm Jr. had driven down from Boston and though he couldn't make it in time to see Dad before the procedure, he was there in time to visit afterwards. Sister Anne and nephew James are flying down tomorrow, coincidentally on my birthday. She's having her gall bladder out on the 1st. Given the run of fiascoes hitting the Dantzler family, I almost feel like apologizing that the only disaster in my life personally is my life personally.