that's why it really hurts

On Saturday, just before midnight, I got a phone call from my mother. Dad's in a lot of pain, she says. Won't let me call 911, she says. Only wants to see you, she says. What could I do? I drove like a madwoman to get to my old home as fast as I could, only to find my father curled up and crying like a baby. The same man who could barely get himself to shed tears when my Dada passed away 16 years ago. So, I called 911 and seven EMTs later, I'm driving again, this time to the hospital. Thank God JC was there (first to make sure I changed into real shoes, then to make sure I kept breathing in the waiting room). Four hours of lying in an overcrowded hallway (and many indignities) later still, the doctor comes by and tells us that he'll need a CT scan in morning. The nurse injects morphine into my father's IV drip and he, mercifully, drifts asleep.

On Sunday morning, three and a half hours of sleep clocked in, we go back only to find him moved elsewhere. A few minutes of panic while none of the nurses seem to either know where he is or want to bother to look it up. (Props to the night nurses who were friendly and courteous). We see him wheeled back from getting his CT (something he should have gotten when he first saw blood but couldn't get an appointment until December 3). A kidney stone, only 5 mm thick. All that pain and blood and puke for something smaller than a ball bearing.

But all my sympathy and sadness was being seriously undermined. By what? Well, he saw blood in his urine last Sunday. Panicked, he went to the doctor and he was told it could be one of two things: urinary tract infection or kidney stones. He was prescribed antibiotics and told to keep hydrated. What does he choose to do instead? Skips his Saturday dosage so he can go to a party and have a drink. Four drinks actually. Which made it all the more complicated because it's obvious his kidneys aren't functioning very well to begin with, so when he gets wheeled into the hospital they can't treat him as well as they would like because of the alcohol in his system. God. What a totally irresponsible thing to do. Two hulking adults who can't figure out the right thing to do, who bend their wills to whatever "they" (as in their friends) will think. What are they, twelve? Christ. I am so on the anger stage of the twelve steps.