Even In A Crisis...

Me: I'm gonna have to run home and change before I go to the hospital. Daddy won't like what I'm wearing.

Stepmom: Good idea. I'll see you later.

Not: Oh honey, don't worry about it. He'll be coming out of surgery, and just being there is what counts.

No, no, no--in my family, appearance MATTERS, so it's a good thing I got over it a long time ago, huh? Otherwise, I'd be one of those dysfunctional daughters suffering from never-measures-up-itis. (I mean, more than the norm.)

So I showed up, properly attired, just in time to accompany him from recovery to his room.

Me: You did GOOD, Daddy. The doctor says you tolerated the surgery well.

Him: Surgery? Did I already have surgery?

Not: What on earth are you wearing, and couldn't you have polished your shoes?

Still...I was comfortable knowing that were he in the least coherent, I was prepared. (You don't get to be 53 years old without learning something.)

Sidenote: For you blogreaders who know me (and know my dad!), here's the deal. We took him to the ER Tuesday night with severe pain. (Ah, ER's...enough for a separate post.) Anyway, turned out to be...are you ready?...a ruptured appendix! Yes, in an 84-year old! Who'da thunk? 'Course any medical procedure on someone with immune and cardio issues (oh, and on COUMADIN) isn't exactly a GOOD thing, but given the possibilities, definitely not the worst news we could have heard. Yesterday (24 hours after surgery) he was up and walking around, so I'm generally pleased.