Skip to main content

Poppa Report for Friday

Even though we had a "HOLY CRAP IT'S COLD!" day off of school, Cute Pam was nice enough to take both my kids for 2 hours so I could go check in on the Poppadoodle.

Let me just say that hospitals are really sad places. Especially cardiac intensive care units. All the people were old, frail, white haired and sleeping. With oxygen masks and beeping machines. One little old man literally looked like he would shatter if he got out of bed.

Poppa was sleeping hard when I got there. He had a busy morning, according to the nurse. They ran the first part of his heart viability test. For the second part he had to hold his arms up and go through a tube similar to getting an MRI and he flat-out refused to have it done. He didn't show any of this vinegar when I was there, in fact he was so out of it that I became alarmed when the nurse told me his is not on pain meds. He says he has no pain. That's good, I suppose, but he sure seemed loopy to me. They took him off of dialysis for a transfer to another hospital and he was quite swollen and the tips of his fingers were blue/black. The nurse indicated that the kidney people were going to look at him and decide if he should be put back on.

Uh, hello, I'm not a Dr. and I can tell he needed to be put back on dialysis!

Poor little puffy Poppa. They did start dialysis back up this afternoon and he was sleeping when Eric called to see if he was up for visitors. So, we're letting him sleep. We're hoping his body can do some magical self mending.

I felt really helpless while I was there. I helped him get juice, I rubbed his hand, fiddled with his bed but really I was just in the way and holding down floor tiles. But, that's what I have to offer right now. He still can't have a bunch of stuff in the room, intensive care and all, but I'm sure he would love a card if you are so inclined. He does have a phone in his room but is not in any kind of condition to answer. More prayers are always welcome and thank you again for those offered on our behalf.


Heather said…
It's hard when you feel unhelpful, but I'm sure your presence was appreciated. Who doesn't like visitors?

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Carly,

I assume that one day you will come to me wanting to know who you are, where you came from, where your other family is and why they gave you to us.  I offer you little bits of information already, but certainly not crumbs enough to satisfy the appetite.  Perhaps it won't matter to you.  I am assuming a lot, already, about how adoption will impact your life.

People often wonder why adoptive parents are hurt when their children seek out biological roots.  I have the answer, and it's very simple.  Adoption - at its core - makes us question the legality, authority, voracity, and validity of parenthood.  For most adoptive parents, first you must come to terms with an issue that strikes at the foundations of mortality: fertility.  From birth, most of us are driven to form families.  First we are nestlings, nurtured and weened and eventually taught to fly.  Then we are nest-builders, filling our lives with the stuff necessary to drive life forward.  Knowledge, safety, money, a sturdy …

Fragmented re-introduction

I dreamed a dream once of what this would be like.  Of life.  Of patterns and songs and ticking off boxes to find my way. 

Trouble was, I keep looking at the wrong list.

This year's list:

- Turn 40 (check)
- Move again (check)
- Send the boy on a mission (check)
- Finish admin license
- Get lost (check)
- Get found (check)
- Lost again (check)

Wait, that went off track. 

Adulthood is a lot of getting off track.  And back on.  It's weird.

I thought at 40, I would have it all together.

But, I'm barely keeping it from falling apart. 


So, this is me where I am now.

40, working, waiting.  My boy's on a mission in Boise.  My girl's 12 going on 20.  My husband hates his job most days, and loves it alternatively.  Same for me.  We live in a small town I don't like very much and dream of going somewhere else, but we don't know where that is. 

I want to be a writer, but I don't spend time writing.

I read something the other day that gave me hope: Guy Fieri…

On being away from home and turning sixteen: a letter to my son

Dear Josh,

I missed your sixteenth birthday.  I'm sure you recall - or maybe it wasn't so bad because you spent the whole day with your friend watching movies.  Godzilla and Guardians of the Galaxy, you've said.  It's no surprise to me that Godzilla was your favorite of the two.  That atomic green monster holds a special place in your heart.

It was very difficult for me to be away from you when you crossed this threshold in your life.  I remember turning sixteen, being sixteen, and wondering when I would feel like I was actually sixteen.  When I was sixteen, I went and found my first job, I started driving myself around, and I pretty much felt like I was in the wrong skin.  I'm only now, at 37, beginning to feel in the right skin.  Or at least comfortable with the skin I'm in.  But you - well, you don't seem to have a problem being you.  I can't explain how very happy that makes me feel, how very reassured.  Because it can be really hard not to like you…