There are times in life when you just have to smile, shake your head, and ask "what the fuck?". Tuesday was one of those days for me.
Tuesday was the day of my dad's heart surgery. It started out well enough. I left my house at 6am drove the three hours from my house to my parent's house and made really great time, even getting there early enough to spend a little time with my nieces (Sister, BIL, and their three daughters live in my parent's basement). We (my mom, dad, and me) left for the hospital around 11 and got there with time to spare for his 11:45am check in time.
His surgery went well, they found a 95+% blockage which was cleared and a stent was put in. Unrelated, his cardiologist was freaking gorgeous. He's already home and is doing great, despite being pissed that he has to take some time off of work. But that's not what I want to write about.
We got my dad all checked in and were directed to a waiting area for the cath lab. This is where we waited for him to go back to pre-op and while the procedure was going on. As it turns out, in this particular hospital, the cardiac cath lab shares a waiting room with Labor and Delivery. I'm not sure if I've wrote about it yet or not, but I seem to be swinging back into an anger phase of the grieving process, so an L&D waiting room was near the top of the list of places where I did not want to spend time. I tried to have a sense of humor and sent a friend a curse word laden text. She suggested that it would be nice if the waiting room space was also shared by a liquor store.
At this point I gave myself a pep talk along the lines of "you've got this" and "you only have to be here for a short time."
Then my grandparents (mom's parents) arrived at the hospital despite being explicitly told that their presence wasn't required and that we would call with an update when there was something to report. At minimum, they shouldn't be driving on the busy road where the hospital is located (or at all for that matter). I've never had a close relationship with my grandparents and because of some things that exceed the scope of this blog, but suffice to say that I don't care to have anything more than a cordial relationship with them. Not to mention that they are very conservative, very religious, and plan to vote for Donald Trump. Anyway, my grandma wanted to pray. Ok, fine. Prayer isn't my thing, but whatever, she thinks it'll do some good. So I bite my tongue and bow my head thinking it would be a short, silent (or at least quiet) prayer. She started praying. Out loud, and not in a quiet voice. For like five minutes. In a busy waiting room. I opened my eyes and we were getting funny looks. Eventually it was over, my blood pressure was through the roof, and I was wishing to be anyplace else. Then they tried to engage me in a discussion about politics. I not so politely declined and reminded them that anything they read on Facebook should be fact checked. This suggestion obviously wasn't taken to heart since my grandma shared this article last night with the comment "not surprising!" Thankfully they got tired and left before I had a heart attack, but not before praying a couple more times.
My dad got out of surgery and was taken to his room. I thought the most stressful part of the day was over. Then my sisters started to stop by. The first one brought her (very active, very loud) toddler to the cardiac ward. Now, I'm no cardiologist, but I can't imagine that a shrieking child (even shrieks of happiness) is a good thing on a cardiac ward. Then another sister stopped by. With her baby. This wasn't so bad (since he can more easily be contained), but then she started breastfeeding. At this point I walked out of the room without explanation and found a waiting room with free drinks (unfortunately none were of the alcoholic variety) and hid there for the better part of an hour.
Around 7:30, we decided to go and get dinner. My sister (with the baby) and brother-in-law decided to join my mom and I. At dinner I was treated to a discussion about why there should be baby changing stations in men's restrooms. When asked my opinion on the matter, I offered that public places aren't required by law to provide baby changing stations, and that most do so out of courtesy. I then suggested that since this particular hardship had absolutely nothing to do with my life that I didn't care one way or the other.
My mom and I didn't get back to my parent's house until a little bit after nine. At this point, I found out that during the getting ready for bed routine, my youngest niece (turned 1 last month) and my dog discovered the toilet. My sister walked in on my dog drinking out of it and my niece with her hands in it splashing away. This was actually a pretty good way to end the day, because I thought it was hilarious. Also, thankfully, this particular sister is very laid back and didn't freak out.
It was just one of those days where the things kept coming, and each seemed more ridiculous. But the important thing is that my dad is fine and hopefully won't have any issues in the future, so any stress I endured was worth it. A couple of days removed from it, I can laugh. I mean seriously, who has to deal with that many triggering situations in one 12 hour period?