One of the hardest things about my last surgery was that call I got the night before from my stepmother. My 88-year-old father was in ICU with double pneumonia. When you’re 88 that’s the kind of thing you die from! She told me he was scared and that he couldn’t talk to me because he was on a breathing apparatus.
At that moment, driving home from work having mentally prepared myself for (yet) another hospital stay, I felt as though God had finally given me more than I could take. But, as usual, I was wrong. For one thing, my stepmother was there with my Dad. Thank God for her. She always calls the ambulance whether he wants it or not.
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