My father had a heart attack this morning. My mother rushed him to the hospital because he was having severe chest pains (for the second time in less than 12 hours - the first time it was ruled most likely nothing to worry about). The doctors checked things out and decided to give him an angioplasty, which is less invasive than other, scarier heart-related procedures, and now he'll be hanging out at the hospital for the next few days. They say he should be completely back to normal in about one month to six weeks.
The weird thing about this though is how it really wasn't a big deal to me until, like, 10 minutes ago. My mom explained everything to me this afternoon in this kind of breezy, matter-of-fact way, casually mentioning letters grouped in 3 like EKG and ICU, and I guess she just made it sound like something so everyday that I didn't treat it like anything that far out of the ordinary.* It occurred to me to send him a Get Well card, mostly because I had one hanging around (a little while ago a good friend broke his leg and when I bought his card I found this other one I thought was too cute to pass up), so I got my sister and brother-in-law to sign it and I wrote a sarcastic message I hoped would make him laugh**. We drew some pictures to go along with it (a broccoli labeled "your best friend" and a tub of lard labeled "hates you") and I sent it off. My sister was so normal about the whole thing, too. It was like, "A get well card - oh, that's nice." Sometimes I don't know if my family really knows how to freak out. I'm not sure if I want them to learn.
So I was going about my day as if nothing strange had happened at all, and then suddenly it's 10 minutes ago and I'm alone in my room and I'm listening to Cat Stevens' "Father and Son" and I look over at this funny note I got from my dad with the package that arrived today and maybe I'm just a sucker for a moment, but I think it hit me. But it's strange. I never feel the easy way that people describe other people feeling at these kinds of times. Not sad or scared or anything, just...significantly weirded out. I mean, it's not that I thought he was invincible, though I think in a way fathers are always invincible, but certainly he was unstoppable. And now he's in a hospital room, which is wildly different from a hotel room, and what is the world coming to? And I realized I'm not going to be able to get any rewrites done tonight. The play is so inextricably linked to my father, though not in the obvious ways most people will think it is, and I just don't know how to rewrite when he's not what I wrote right now. Does that make sense? There's a certain helplessness to that, because the rewrites have been expected for so long, and I didn't get anything done over Thanksgiving break, and I didn't get anything done when I got back to Provo because I left my computer's power cord in Oregon and there's my whole life on this thing (I got the cord back in the package today). And now I just don't know if I'll ever get this damn thing done.*** Certainly not in time for it to be staged in February as planned, unless I have some sudden flash of genius. I just hate that.
I came to this realization, and I stumbled blindly onto MySpace, where I found I'd been contacted by some boys I thought I'd never even think about again. These "Hey, remember me?" messages just sitting there. And when all the rest of your world is a little off-kilter, something like that seems absolutely bizarre. Instead of, "Oh, him! I remember him!" I'm thinking, "Is the whole WORLD not what I thought it was?!?" I wandered into the living room to get my bearings (my bedroom is far too chaotic for sense-making), looked into a mirror, and realized my nose was bleeding. I believe that was the point at which I began swearing aloud. Luckily no one heard (don't you judge me, Provo!). It's just that it's all coming at the end of such a strange day, what with my laptop being dead right when I needed it (I had to actually call two stage managers because I couldn't get to my email - and I hate calling people!), and then we really had the single strangest performance of King Lear to date today. I was crying onstage, then laughing so hard I couldn't move backstage, then everyone was just off and doing these weird things they'd never done with their characters before, and at one point I honestly thought the backdrop was going to fall on my head... I can't begin to explain the strangeness of the day. I just finished all my sugar-free chocolate and I still don't feel like life is normal again.
It's times like these when finishing my homework seems just unfathomable. But I guess that's life. A girl from my old playwriting class once said, "You still have to pay the bills the day your mom dies." That's one of my favorite things I've heard.
*Lots of people think I get my acting talents from my dad, because he's loud like me and likes to perform. But judging from the way my mother calmly ended our phone conversation during my dad's first problems last night, most of it's got to be coming from her. Mom: "Oh, hey, I'm sorry but your father's kind of sick and I've got to take him to the doctor now. Sorry to have to end the conversation early." Me: "Oh...OK then. Tell him to get better, alright?" Mom: "I will. And I hope you can finish the rest of your play alright." Me: "Oh, I'll be fine." Mom: "Okay. Bye then. Love you." Me: "See you." And my father was standing there with his chest and his arm hurting like crazy, having trouble breathing. My mom's talking to me and getting her things together at the same time; she didn't sound stressed at all. I'm telling you - I'm pretty good at what I do, but my mom's a freaking genius.
**Much of my childhood was spent keeping my parents suitably entertained so they wouldn't notice that I wasn't actually helping out around the house, so I've got a pretty good read on my dad's sense of humor.
***Mormon readers: feel free to pretend I just said "darn". "I just don't know if I'll ever get this darn thing done." Or flim-flammin', or whatever you prefer.
No comments:
Post a Comment