He’s the first man in my life, and I love him to bits.
We don’t see each other as often as we might like, and since I hate the phone, we don’t speak with each other all that often either. But not a day goes by that I don’t think of him fondly.
He’s the best Dad ever.
And he’s in hospital.
While we were enjoying a
day out field trip to Ikea, Dad was undergoing surgery for Barrett’s oesophagus.
I knew it. Or at least I should have known, because Mum and Dad had told me he was going to have surgery again. But scatterbrain that I am, I forgot it was today. (I really should learn to write those things on our calendar so I will remember.)
While we were having lunch at the restaurant, I remembered how we ran into Mum and Dad in that very same restaurant a couple of years ago, and enjoyed each other’s company over a nice cuppa.
And not once did it occur to me that his surgery was today.
We’d barely been home again for an hour, or the phone rang. Seeing that I hate the phone, I of course didn’t answer it, but thankfully the hubby did. I was surprised to hear it was my sister wishing to talk to me. We’d seen each other only a couple of days ago after all, but hey, she’s me little sister and I’d never pass up a chance to chat with her.
Sadly, she didn’t call to just have a nice chat. She told me about Dad’s surgery, and how back home he’d started bleeding. No good. So Mum asked her to phone me as she was waiting for the hospital to call her back.
I asked my sister to let me know when she knew more, and not ten minutes later she called again. Dad would be taken back to hospital by ambulance.
That’s several hours ago now, and I haven’t heard back from either my Mum or my sister. I even tried to phone my sister on her mobile, but no luck there, so I guess I’ll just have to wait. I do hope I’ll hear from Mum or sis before I have to hit the sheets, cause I’m not sure how much sleep I’ll get otherwise.