Dad went in to his surgery feeling optimistic. He called me a few times since I couldn’t be there before his surgery, and he sounded good, like he was really hoping this was going to be the miracle he was waiting for. It was especially nice to hear the spirit back in his voice, to hear a few laughs and a couple of jokes being issued out as if there hadn’t been a dark period before this.
On the day of the surgery, I travelled up to ensure i’d be there when he got up to the observation unit. At 4pm I strode in, expecting he would be in his room after spending five hours in surgery. Not to be. It wasn’t until 7pm that they finally wheeled him into his room. By this time I was frantic with worry and my level of anger towards the hospital was escalating at a dangerous degree. It is extremely difficult to wait when you are really not a patient person.
Either way, he made it out of surgery and seemed to be in pretty good spirits. The next day as well as the following day were filled with making trips to the ice machine so that he could dip swabs into the ice cold water and wet his starving-for-fluid lips and mouth.
He was in a great amount of pain, worried that he might overdose on the pain killers they were administering to him, and was fevered to a degree that chilled my bones to see.
After I returned home, I kept up to date with current events by checking in with a family member who lives in the city. Things were going well, so well in fact that they were thinking of releasing him that coming Sunday. In an expected 12 day recovery period, they were going to send him home 3 days earlier than originally planned. This was great news! Everyone rejoiced! Jubilance broke out! I can’t even begin to express in words how happy I was that he was going home. And I have to say, he was pretty pumped about it himself.
A wonderful recovery! All is right with the world!