That River in Egypt
I never really fully grasped what it meant to be in denial, but this week I've experienced it. It's a pretty content state of being, until reality crashes in on you.
My grandpa's in the hospital. I knew he was going in for surgery, and I knew there may be complications. To condense a long story, his emphysema resulted in a so-far week-long hospital stay (with no concrete end in sight) for a typically leave-the-same-day surgery.
The doctors knew it wasn't the surgery, but his lungs, that would be the problem. Because of the emphysema, the anesthesia basically shut down his system. He's breathing on his own (with the help of a high dose of oxygen), but hasn't been able to eat in a week. I'll spare you the details.
Needless to say, I knew he wasn't doing well, and yet I went on with my life. My attitude was that of "If I don't ask how Grandpa is, he'll be fine." He's always been at the back of my mind, but I avoided finding out exactly how he was doing.
I talked to my mom last night, and it's not good. The doctors can't figure out why his system won't start up again. When the doctors don't know what's wrong... ugh. He has a good attitude, as always, but he's still in Critical Care (finally was transferred out of Intensive Care).
It's easier not to think about it. These are my mom's parents, the grandparents I'm closest to. Really close to. I wish I could visit him, but I'm two thousand miles away. He can't talk on the cell phone in his room. He can't really talk all that well, anyway, with the shallow breathing.
I just... he has to pull through. He's not even 80. Please, if you don't mind, keep Grandpa Jim in your thoughts.
On a happier note, my sister's coming to visit tonight. I can't wait to see her.