Still the Best Medicine

If you're not watching Scrubs, you should be. I've never seen a show that could make me laugh and cry within seconds of either emotional extreme, and with its return this week it really reminded me of why I like it so much. I'm probably extra tuned in to hospital scenarios as well, as I watched the episodes I'd taped after visiting my father, who's been in the hospital for three days himself.

It's been exhausting, getting up an hour early, visiting him, working a full day, then heading back to the hospital. I'm definitely on some form of autopilot, so I apologize if my thoughts shift or don't quite make sense. I can't complain though, as I at least have distractions. My dad is definitely getting tired of being poked and prodded, and alternates between moping and feeling like he's finished because so much is wrong with him, to getting angry and wanting to come home. He continues to have a temperature each day, which one nurse described as a “low grade fever”. He's had a scan of his heart and several blood tests, and in tracing whatever's causing this infection they're doing some kind of test in which they removed some blood, “tagged” it, and put it back in. I assume it's some kind of radioactive isotope, similar to when I was scanned a few years back to determine the exact source of my internal bleeding. I don't think they suspect bleeding, and they say the test will pinpoint the infection. He's seen teams of doctors of varying specialties, and no one's told him anything concrete.

Between his shoulder pain and a pain he gets in his chest which could be either angina or heartburn, as well as being in an unfamiliar environment, he's not sleeping very well. Each night, as my mom and I stay past visiting hours, he starts to get a little cranky. At one point we finally got him comfortable, and a nurse showed up to check him and give him his medicine. He tried to make some kind of analogy about paving a road and then digging it up, then got frustrated because he thought I was laughing at him. It's strange to see my dad so sensitive and irritable, and sometimes it's like looking in to a mirror. Any jokes or smiles on my part were a combination of tiredness and trying to cheer him up, but he was misinterpreting me. It makes me wonder how many of the jokes at my expense over the years were malicious and how many were just friendly teasing from people that actually liked me.

It's his mood that worries me more than anything. Provided it is just a viral infection and he does get rest, vitamins, antibiotics, and any other care he requires, he should be able to recover. He doesn't understand why he's tired doing nothing, but I can imagine how much worse he'd feel if he was home pushing himself by climbing ladders or lugging trees around. He likes to walk up stairs to “test” himself to see if he gets the pain. I myself am a strong believer in that old joke in which a doctor tells his patient if something hurts him, just don't do it. We were joking that he needed House to come solve his medical mysteries, or at the very least smack him with his cane and tell him to snap out of it. The next day my godfather visited, a tall guy with a cane of his own, and was the next best thing. I try to remind my dad of upcoming shows we watch together to give him goals and have him thinking about when he comes home not if. 24 premieres this Sunday, and I know he's looking forward to Lost and I'm looking forward to explaining it to him during the commercial breaks. The “who's that guy?” and “I thought they were just on an island.” and “this show jumps around a lot” would sometimes start to bug me, but now I can't wait to hear all that again.

He did sleep a little bit while we were there on Wednesday night. I think it was Wednesday; all the days have been running in to each other this week. I managed to prop his pillows and adjust the bed so neither his shoulder nor his chest discomfort disturbed him as much, he soon was snoring and mumbling gibberish, while his hands and feet twitched like he was dreaming about running or chasing something. When he did wake up and I told him he talks in his sleep, he said something like, “I better be careful what I say before they lock me up.” Next time I need to pick up on some of the words and see if I do learn any secrets, like if he has money buried in my grandfather's old lot or something. It's also surreal to watch my old man sleeping like a baby, his lower lip fluttering on each exhale, as he and my mom probably watched me 34 years ago. The cycle of life is so weird and wonderful and happy and sad.

I guess I'll do an actual review of the new season of Scrubs another time when my head is clear. Hopefully the upcoming tests find either nothing serious, or something treatable, and hopefully my dad will be home in a few days. I have to keep reminding my mom to maintain her medication and get enough rest, or else February will have my dad and I going to the hospital to see her. Getting old is rough but, like Scrubs, I guess in the end it comes down to our attitude, to being able to joke around and be with our loved ones. Humor goes a long way in reducing fear, if not eliminating it entirely. Laughter is still the best medicine.