My Dad

My dad is in the hospital today having a . . . prepare yourself . . . SEVEN bypass heart surgery. I didn't think you could have more than four. Perhaps because there is no such word as "sevenbuple" like quadruple or triple or any other ple sound. He has had heart problems for years, but this surgery came suddenly. I am grateful he didn't have a heart attack, as the doctors said if they didn't catch this now (he was faint on Sunday and took a trip to the hospital) he would have had one soon.

I love my dad. He's fun. Always has been. I rolled down the windows to my car on the freeway for a moment last night and the memory of him and I driving 13 hours in the hot desert summer taking me out to college in a truck with no air-conditioning came back to me. We had to yell the whole time to hear each other with the windows down, but we bantered with jokes, I listened (a lot, if you know my dad) to his many stories, and we screamed a handful of times when a huge bug or bee tried to sit in the truck with us. And then laughed really hard about it. I think Dad will be fine. The next two weeks will be critical to his recovery. But I cling to the hope that this surgery will make him feel better in a few months. Because life would not be the same without Dad's laugh and Dad's stories straight from him.