This week didn't go as planned. With the podcast recorded and my story & essay for the Haunted Mansion anthology accepted, I was looking forward to finishing the story for Dana's anthology and starting Nanowrimo.
The new kitchen cabinets came first thing Monday morning and the contractor has been here all week getting those into place, putting in the baseboards and caps, screwing on the handles, and getting the plywood bases for the countertops in place. It looks almost like a kitchen again, which means I should have my office back again soon. Two more weeks, the contractor promised.
We had to get through Halloween and my daughter's 8-year check-up, but Wednesday morning I went back to the cafe where I'd written the strong start of the new story, hoping to press on from there. Life seemed rich and full of promise.
Then my mom called my cell. My dad is back in the hospital. He'd apparently been having breathing trouble since Friday, but wouldn't see the doctor or go to the hospital until Monday night, when he realized he wasn't going to survive until morning. Why he let it go that long, no one really understands. Why she waited to call me for more than 48 hours...?
My dad has congestive heart failure. He needs a valve transplant, if not a new heart, but he'd responded to the last surgery in March so well that he wasn't a "good" candidate for anything more then. Now that he's nearly died again from the failing heart he's been living with for two years, there's talk about sending him down to Cleveland Clinic to get the job done.
That sounds to me that the valve transplant is so risky that they only perform it on people who are in immediate danger of death.
At this point, my parents aren't encouraging me to come home. Neither one of them is calling me; I'm calling them and teasing out what details I can. Dad is keeping a resolutely straight face, telling me only that he's feeling better, not that he can't sleep because he can't breathe lying down.
I'm doing laundry and making a packing list, just in case.
In the meantime, the countertop man is two hours late. I'd really like to go for a long walk and clear my head -- I haven't been able to walk all week, what with waiting for the cabinet guys and the counter guys. I'd really like to get this story done, since the deadline is the 15th. I'd really like to figure out where I'm going to be in the next week. I'd really like to be able to do something for my dad.
Life is still full, but I'm not really liking the promises it's making.
Causes Loren Rhoads Supports