This isn’t really the sort of thing I like to post about. I normally try to keep this ‘blog for talking about writing and movies and monsters, but every now and then something like this creeps in, so I’ll try to keep it brief: My dad is sick. He has lupus and diabetes and a whole pile of other things, and he’s on dialysis.
He was diagnosed with lupus when I was less than a year old, and the doctors told him then that he wouldn’t live another year, and if he did he’d be bedfast. That was over thirty years ago, so this is something that’s been coming on for literally my entire life, but in the last year or so, he’s gotten precipitously worse. A few days ago, he went into the hospital again. My mom called me, and Grace and I drove down to see them. By the time we got there, he was doing really well. Better, honestly, than I’d seen him in months. They tell me he had pneumonia and the flu, but I guess the antibiotics they were giving him really worked.
So, this time he was okay. This wasn’t the call. Which is a relief, of course. But that call will come one of these days, as it does eventually for us all. And this was another reminder of that.
I’m not really going anywhere particular with this. I don’t have any witty insights to offer, not much left to say on the subject. Just that this weekend wasn’t easy. I’m slowly catching back up on things, returning to normal, getting back into the swing, but it’s taking some time.