Today was long. Work was fine -- I went to the Cubs game, then returned to work for a couple hours. I got home at 7pm. At 7:11 my dad called, from his cell phone. "I just wanted to let you know I'm back in the hospital." -- What a hell of a phrase, isn't it? Two weeks ago he was in the hospital because of severe stomach pains. Now he is back because of a fever of 103.5 -- anything over 100 he is supposed to go to the hospital because of possible chemo-related infection. Evidently he was pretty dehydrated too.
My dad was admitted into a private room [thankfully the Oncologist called and required him to get a private room to help stall the possibility of infection -- I wonder if he is really that sick, or if it is a line that was fed so he'd get a private room (the doctor indicated that she will do whatever it takes to make sure her patients are comfortable)] at 1pm. By 5pm when we chatted his fever had dropped to 99.5. In addition to the standard IV he was being pumped full of anti-biotics. It has been 27 days since I left Oregon, and he has been in the hospital on two separate occasions now -- one for 3 days two weeks ago, and then again today.
I have flights to PDX on hold for Saturday, Sunday and Monday -- just in case...how fucking horrible. I have a headache, and don't feel like going to the gym any more -- maybe I'll just lay around my house.
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