NO bad news. That’s the rule.
Here in Debland we have an unwritten rule…well, it was unwritten until I wrote it down today. Here it is: “If you can’t blog about something nice, then don’t bother blogging at all.” (Gripes don’t count, of course. I have to have something to talk about. )
So. There was no blog last Tuesday because on Monday night my dearly loved father-in-law, Milt, who is visiting us from South Dakota, fell. Anyone with elderly family members knows this is a four-letter, F-word with horrible repercussions. And we were definitely worried–despite Milt’s insistance that we NOT take him to the hospital. He can be a stubborn cuss.
Fortunately, my sister-in-law, Karryn, is a nurse who doesn’t take “No” for an answer. She made some calls, lined up an appointment at Modesto Imaging and put the fear of “pneumonia” in Milt. We very carefully helped him into the car then spent the rest of the day hurrying up to wait. Finally, we heard the verdict: three cracked ribs, a fractured wrist and a hairline fracture of the cheekbone. But, as Karryn had predicted, the most worrisome part was the loss of lung function. He was admitted to the hospital.
When we returned the next day, he actually looked even worse–the result of gravity and pooled blood around his eye socket. Eeek! But after a few breathing treatments and antibiotics, he was out of the danger zone.
So…adhering to my rule, here’s the good news: Milt is a tough old bird. Did I mention he’s 87? After five days in the hospital, he was released in pretty good shape. His ribs hurt like heck, but there’s nothing you can do about that but wait for them to heal. His wrist is wrapped, but not in a cast. And his lung function has improved without surgery. We are ecstatic.
He’s also itching to get back to “work.” Prior to his fall, he was helping Paul on the ’47 Woodie project. Now, he’ll move to a supervisor position. We can’t wait.
I hope your day is all GOOD!
PS: Milt was outside when he fell. It was after dinner and very dark. For some reason, he decided to take a stroll off our back deck–without turning on the lights. He missed the last step and went down hard. Paul and I were inside doing the dishes. Luckily, our puppy, Jessie, heard Milt’s cry for help and started barking her head off. (Even luckier, she was on her leash or she would have smothered him with licks and sympathy and made things worse.) But her barks alerted us to the problem. Yeah, Jessie!!