Breathing uneasy

Right now my dad is cooling his heels in the emergency ward at the University Hospital. He ended up there after his doctor looked at a chest X-ray and opined that he might have blood clots on his lungs.

We went to visit him as soon as we heard. We found him perched on the side of his bed, looking none too pleased to be there, still, after six hours. While we were there we learned he'd be spending the night, so we got him a sandwich and a ginger ale, and a granola bar for tomorrow morning.

The news so far is that it's likely a "touch of pneumonia," as one young doctor described it. That's bad news, albeit better than blood clots; worse news is that he's probably got COPD, the all-too-common consequence of lifelong smoking.

It's a strange thing to see a man you've regarded for much of your life as superhuman looking small and frail in a hospital gown. Trish, who has had plenty of experience with a dad in the hospital, was a godsend. She thought of everything, and if our presence there made my old man feel better, it was all her doing.

I'm going back tomorrow morning, pen and newspaper in hand. I'll find out how his night went, we'll finish the crossword together and I'll stick around awhile. The doctors think he'll be out sometime tomorrow; I'm keeping my fingers crossed.