Popsicle Head & Della Dawn

This is my dad, who I sometimes affectionately call Popsicle Head. This past Saturday, my father had thirty minutes of chest pains and didn't say a word about it to anyone until it was over. I'm sure he had logical reasons as to why he didn't want to tell my mom because he knew she would panic, or why he wouldn't tell me why he was skipping out on the football game, but he still wanted me to go and have a good time. He may have been looking out for our best interests, but I am still frustrated with him.

I think that like me, my dad is scared. Both of his parents died in their sixties from heart attacks, and he is 64. His younger brother has already had two major heart attacks and open-heart surgery, and his brother has had procedures done to prevent his already clogged arteries from getting worse. He is by far the healthiest among the men in the family, but this episode I'm sure has him nervous. And apparently this isn't the first time this has happened, the family decided not to tell me about the others until now. (I'm still a little bitter.)

I talked with him for about an hour today about all the tests they have run and will run over the next couple of days. A lot of it is medical jargon that both he and I don't understand. He was bragging on his doctors though, so I'm convinced he is in good hands. Mom is going with him tomorrow to Baptist Hospital in Oklahoma City, where he will spend most of the day. (My uncle Fenton is a doctor there, which makes me feel better.) There are going to put another stint (I think) into a major artery in his groin area, where they will put dye into his blood stream and take pictures. This will determine whether or not he will need work done to open up clogged areas around the heart. If he does need cleaning or unblocking, they will go ahead and do it tomorrow. He says he won't have to stay overnight most likely. I will probably take off work and go up there for a few hours. Please be praying for him, the doctors, my mom, and the rest of family.

I know there a few of you who know what either losing parents is like or the threatening idea of it. It is such a strange feeling. I have mostly been thinking about our relationship, the things I enjoy and the things I would like to change. The fun times we have in Michigan, on the golf course, working on my house, or watching Seinfeld. I love my father’s infectious laugh and the way he eats tomatoes like apples. It bugs me, but I laugh when he always wants me to "take my shoes off and relax". He stresses me out when he asks, "Are you going to go out like that" after I have spent an hour in the bathroom getting ready. I love his Chevy Chase sense of humor, his love for westerns, and his guilty pleasure of Lifetime-TV-for-women-made-for-TV-movies. His theology makes me angry and his love for money infuriates me. But I'm proud of his sense of tradition and commitment to his family. I love that he quit drinking because he loves me. I love that he stops by my house just to see if I want to go to lunch. I love that he tells me never to get married but to take care of him for the rest of my life (not his). I love my father. Even if he is crazy Mr. Sanger.