Thank god. They had to do two grafts (bypasses) and they said they were finishing up and would be done in about 30 minutes. Doctor is supposed to come talk to us.
Did I mention that the Doctor is Lebanese? Cecil did his usual slight accent when he talked to the doctor Tuesday. He doesn’t realize he is doing this, but he picks up and mimics the accents of people he talks to. It is really funny and also embarrassing.
Dad is in the bypass portion. Meaning his heart isn’t beating right now. Which is scary as fuck. They are doing the grafts, and not sure if they will do two or three.
Also, as is my usual reaction to larger chatty groups, I pretty much want to fucking punch about three people in here: chatty, bawdy redneck girl, the tinkling laugh girl, and the kid that knocked the Mountain Dew over, perilously close to my belongings. Get a babysitter for heart surgery, people.
Still in Macon. Looks like Dad is going to need bypass surgery. Waiting on a surgical consult and we will know more.
This doesn’t seem real. Everyone still has their sense of humor, though; Some kind of gallows humor (and drugs) is resulting in more bawdy Cecil revelations than usual, some of which have not been fit for public consumption.
Think good thoughts for my Daddy.
“Mama, will you help me get an orange shirt?”
“Why?”
“I would like to go on the rocketship, and land on a cloud and then walk to the store.”
“Okay.”
Tiller just looks at me expectantly.
“So, what do you need the shirt for?”
“Because my brother said we could only go if we have orange shirts.”
“Well, let’s get you an orange shirt, shall we?”
I woke up to Todd nudging me and then resting his hand on my stomach. I hate that.
Me: “Is it my turn to get up?”
Todd: “Yes.”
Me: “Ten more minutes.”
Todd: “I’m going to stick my finger in your belly button. . .”
Me: “I’m going to punch you in the fucking face. And then the nuts.”
Todd: “I love you, too.”
Wooh. I am tired. But i saw some really amazing art today. REALLY amazing. Ate a wonderful breakfast. Saw M. Ward. Then saw jazz at an awesome bar. Then went to another bar, where I listened to awesome music and met a gay man from Chickamauga. Much fun had by all.
Can’t wait to get home, and tell you about my awesome flight experience. I sure love flying.
Love,
Dogwood Girl
p.s. Dogwood is liking Chicago.
Gardening. Coupon-clipping. Laundering. Carpooling. School volunteering. Cooking. Exercising. Trying not to be a fat ass.
These things, they are time-consuming. Dogwood Girl suffers for it.
Why i have been so uninspired to write lately. It is unlike me. Maybe it is the rain (blame it on the rain) or the busyness of life. I just don’t know. But i am here. I will write. If life will just stop getting in the way. Or maybe it is Facebook getting in the way. Facebook is life, right? No?
A few of you may have heard that I had a horrible day with Tiller yesterday. She was up at the ass crack of dawn (pre-dawn, even – 5:30am!) and did not want to go back to sleep. Nor did she want to be alone. Nor did I want to be up. We battled. She won. I made coffee and cussed. She was a bear all day. Stories of her behavior are widespread and used as cautionary tales promoting abstinence as I write this today.
Later in the day, I was in a befuddled sleep-deprived state, but Tiller and I decided to take advantage of the nice warm weather. I was bored, so quickly snapped a few pictures of her. Later, as I looked at them, I was struck by her mercurial nature as displayed in the photos. They were taken in about a two minute period.
Dribbler
Tantrummer
Devil Child
Bemused
Smarty
Basker
Spinner
I quake at the thought of a thirteen-year-old Tiller.
From the future, where my last post occurred.