gray tower tale

i must have fallen asleep while reading kafka on the shore. i had a weird dream about cats and libraries and a strange assortment of characters who all wore lab coats. when i came to, my dad was gone (presumably to undergo another test), and my dad's roommate started talking to me about...a lot of shit. how my dad was really nice and stayed up to chat with him throughout the wee hours of the morning because the guy (the roommate) was in pain. he told me how much he appreciated good conversation and had not had many good conversations over the past couple of years.

his earnestness (and new yawker/european/all around strange accent) made me smile, and i nodded in agreement to most of which he said. as he would try to sit up straight in his loud, noisy bed, we made small talk about his family ("too many daughters"), books ("too many words for his bad eyes"), and the beautiful places he had visited (most of which are in south america) and where he would travel if he had the money (manila and argentina). and he remarked on how friendly i was...much like my father. "it must run in the family," he mentioned and soon after that our dialogue quietened, he began to snore, and i attempted to delve into my book once again.

it didn't pan out though. that man snored way too loudly. like...worse than if your lover is drunk and has a cold and has his mouth pressed to your ear.

so, i took a stroll around the icu. it was early so it was quiet. i met a couple of nice nurses and techs and residents, who all mentioned how i walk like my dad (i think this may mean that i walk very slowly and deliberately...and looked at weird details in the hallway.) and how friendly he was. apparently, he had been walking the halls and making smilies at the nurses. i found myself doing the same thing. just saying hi to people i passed on my laps. striking up conversations with some of the techs about saving some of my paychecks in jars rather than banks and visiting the philippines. talking with other wandering family members about the lack of quality magazine material in the stinky patient care room, which happens to be soundproof.

my dad came back shortly after and was bombarded with calls from his workplace. calls from people i had never met. some calls from people my dad had *just* met. from what i could ascertain, even the director was concerned about how he was and had been getting calls from worried staff. apparently, my dad is pretty friendly. it wasn't until the fifth or sixth call that i became overwhelmed.

i had almost lost my dad, but other people had almost lost a friend. he made, seemingly, an indelible impression. and at that point, i realized how much i really liked my dad...as a person.

i told my dad i was going for a walk and found myself sitting on a busted camel-hair chair on the other side of the ward...with my head buried in my hands. i don't think i have cried that hard in a very long time. i don't much anymore, but when i do, i don't want anyone to find me. and i certainly don't sob in front of my family.

and of course, right when i was in the middle of a snot in my throat, puffy eyed cry, my dad turned the corner and saw me. he pulled his squeaky IV drip across the linoleum, sat next to me, and let me cry. we just sat there and didn't say anything. there really wasn't anything to say. i mean, what exactly are you supposed to say? anything vocalized would have been redundant at that point.

we walked back to his room shortly afterwards and that was that. it probably one of the best, most needed conversations i've ever had.

that's pretty much how my day went.

he's doing much better, for those of you who are wondering.

thanks to you folks who sent messages and called.

il est belge.

so, my lymph nodes are swollen on the left side up my neck and near my ear and jaw and collarbone. i should be freaking out right now, but i'm abnormally calm and resisting every effort in googling 'out of remission?' and 'lymphoma'. people have spreading around germies at work so i kinda hope that i have the flu or some really crappy cold and not the other thing. unless it gets worse, i'm not making a doctor's appointment. why? because if it is the other thing, i'd like to have a couple weeks without testing and waiting, testing and waiting. that sounds pretty selfish of me, and it is. i can't really explain it without sounding like a spoiled kid. cross your fingers for a cold, okay? i think it's a cold anyways!

i've never really been consistently pro-active about my health, but i've always been pro-active about my dad's health. seriously. i buy all these foods to trick my dad into eating better. i make him go to the doctor when he's sick or evenwhen he's not for check ups. i'm always trying to get him to go to NIH for those sleep apnea tests because i swear he has that condition. i make him take vitamins. when i was in middle school, he was home and my grandmother told me he was very, very sick. i went upstairs, and my dad was in fetal position puking his guts out over the side of the bed. i totally freaked out and started crying and told him i was driving him to the hospital. my mom ended up taking him....like eight hours later, and he ended up having major surgery. my aunt took me to visit him, and i ended up sobbing so loudly and so badly that she had to take me outside. i get kind of sensitive when i talk about my dad.

i probably get my storytelling abilities from him. he spent most of his life traveling far away from here, even when i was younger. he would bring back all sorts of weirdness (and candy) from his trips. i was a budding philatist as a kid so i have stamps from every country he visited, most from postcards he used to send. he also brought his camera, which i think was pretty advanced for the time. so, i was able to see all the pigeons on my dad's arms in venice (literally hundreds), basque country platters of food (for which i am very jealous), his little hotel room in china with take-out chicken feet on the table, the costumes (and insanity) of rio carinval, and belgium, belgium, belgium. my dad loves beligium. he hasn't been there in years, but he still talks about it like he just left and is about to go back. the people are nice, he says. the food is so delicious, but he can make it at home, he says. i crossed that bridge before, he says. il est belge.

actually, i probably also got my nomadic nature from him because if anyone's trips had an impact on me, they were those of my dad.

now, we're both stuck with jobs that imprison us in one area. haha. i shouldn't say that. i think dad is content to only work until 230 and get every single international relations question right on jeopardy. he's watches anthony bourdain and says 'i've been there.' it's kinda annoying, but i'm glad that he's proud.

i have no idea how to end this post. i could probably talk about my dad and his adventures for a long time. god knows i have all the stories.

well, that's it. i'm done! i want pancakes so i'm leaving!