Once all the mean blanket-refusing people had left, a nurse finally granted reprieve with one blanket, and Dad curled up and took a nap. While he was sleeping, Karen Taylor stopped by and offered to bring Dad some good soup once he was home. He woke up in a better mood, and was able to talk to my husband Mike on the phone. Mike is in his last year of residency in anesthesiology, and has been doing a lot of similar cardiac surgeries lately, so he was able to give Dad lots of gritty and gory details about his condition and surgery. I don't know exactly what he said, but afterwards Dad was once again grateful to be alive, blankets or not.
Soon, Dad was given dinner of chicken and rice and asparagus, which he declared to be the most delicious meal yet at the hospital. Which isn't saying much. He was chowing down when the nurse remembered that his glucose hadn't been checked yet, so Dad obediently spit out a bite of roll. He doesn't want his sugar levels too high or else he gets insulin, and insulin is on the list of things Dad doesn't like. One prick of the finger didn't work, because the callous on his finger was too thick. "That's my guitar finger," said Dad. "Try this other one, on the side." After passing the blood sugar test, Dad was told that they would stop testing his sugar levels because he had passed so many, so the threat of insulin is gone. Yet another minor victory!
Afterwards, the members of the family who were not confined to a hospital bed went to Bombay House to celebrate Tyler's 30th birthday. We had the back room to ourselves so Scott could chase Erin around and around without bothering other diners. Tyler's best present is having a living father. We told Dad it's a good thing he didn't die, or he would have ruined Tyler's birthday forever, and we wouldn't want that.
