Emergency

Dad called me at about 11:00 pm last night on my cell. He couldn't breathe and suggested, between gasps, that maybe he should go to emergency. Dad, asking to be taken to emergency is huge. I got dressed and skipped two-three stairs at a time in my rush to get to the bottom. He was in the family room where he sleeps in his recliner trying to get his pants over his severely swollen legs. After assuring me he could make it out to the car, I grabbed keys, ostomy supplies and dad and headed for the emergency room at St. Claire's Hospital.

After telling the guy at the desk Dad was 78 years old, a diebetic, and had just been diagnosed a couple of weeks prior with congestive heart failure and pneumonia, he was pretty much rushed through the process, however he laid on a bed for about 3 hours before finally being admitted.

As they were rolling dad to his room, I noticed a round object wrapped in foil laying beside him. While I was grabbing essentials before running out the door dad saw fit to grab a ding dong. Dad really? A ding dong?

They had him hooked up to oxygen which was helping quite a bit to level his breathing. I wouldn't be surprised if when he comes home he has a new apparatus attached to his side. I'd stepped out of the room for a minute to get Dad's belongings which had been left on the bed they'd rolled him in from emergency in a large plastic bag, and heard the nurse say with a Spanish accent, "Ding, dong? What's his ding dong". The male nurse assisting her looked puzzled. "Why's he looking for his ding dong?" I thought I'd better explain before things went over the edge. "A chocolate round piece of cake with cream in the middle?" Come on guys, this is learned in Overeaters 101. They both looked back at me like I just said something rediculous. "I stuffed it in his bag." Enlightment. "Ooooh". Both at the same time. Unbelieveable.

Well, no use getting any sleep, I'm off to work to try to make some sense out of the mess on my desk in the event I have to take Friday off.