Not According to Plan

My dad is back in the hospital.

He's got fluid in his lungs, and it needs to come out. Via a big needle. Wielded by a surgeon.

He's got some other symptoms, too, that we think might all be related to the fluid. That's what we hope, anyway.

His case is complicated enough that he was moved back to the ICU after only a couple of hours in a regular room. This is a good thing, because the patient-to-nurse ratio in the ICU is either two-to-one or one-to-one, depending on the patient, which means he will be followed incredibly closely. But it's still the ICU, and that's a far cry from being at home, in his own bed.

I had to leave even before he was transferred to the ICU because I had a Herceptin treatment today. I pushed it back as late as I could, but eventually I just had to go.

I knew he'd be fine—he's in exceedingly capable hands, and my mom was there, and my sister was en route from Cape Cod—but it was still tremendously difficult to go. When your parent is in the ICU, that's where you belong—end of story.

I got out of the cancer center too late and too exhausted to go back to the hospital. As usual, I'm completely wiped out from the Tylenol-Benadryl cocktail—I slept through most of the treatment and am ready to call it a very early night. My mom and sister are doing the same. Here's hoping all four of us, my dad especially, get a long night of uninterrupted rest.

With that, the orange panties and I are off to bed. Tomorrow I will start looking for orange boxer shorts for my dad.