I Had Some Dreams; They Were Clouds in My Coffee
One morning, I
wake up and want to get my cup of coffee for the day. There's a kink
in my plan: Dadzilla is in the kitchen doing who knows what.
Sometimes I can deal with this dilemma, but usually, I'm simply not
up to being pestered first thing in the morning. I diddle around on
the computer for a little while, then I make like I'm going into the
bathroom. He's still out there. He must be making lunch. He does
everything early-- breakfast at 6am, lunch at 10am, dinner at 3pm,
then snacks most of the night.
I hear
Dadzilla enter his room, which means he's probably on the way to his
bathroom. I make a mad dash for the kitchen. Son of a bee! He's
got his spread out for lunch and his meal is in the microwave. No
coffee for me. I head back to my room, irritated. I wait a while
longer, til I think I hear him go to his room again. I rush back out
to the kitchen. The table is clear, so he's done eating. I
immediately put the coffee on, and go back to my room.
A few minutes
later, I open my door to go check on the coffee. Dadzilla is coming
out of his room. He asks if I can take him to the hospital; he's
having trouble breathing. I rush out to turn the coffee maker off
(naturally, it's finished, but I am denied). I get my stuff
together, he gets his stuff together, and we head out to the car.
Half way
there, he notices he forgot his wallet. We continue on anyway. I
know he's not feeling well, because he's not talking a mile a minute
like usual and complaining about anything and everything. I drop him
off as close to the emergency room as I can and find a place to park.
They admit him even without information and insurance cards from his
wallet. He's on the computer system, so there's no trouble.
We're led to
an examination room after a short wait. It's not at all like any ER
I've seen on TV. I had no idea they made you wait. Apparently, his
case isn't critical enough since he can still walk on his own. They
examine him and take blood. It takes them about an hour to even get
the needle in because his age makes his veins incredibly hard to
access.
The man who
can't breathe well talks and talks and talks, jokes with the nursing
staff and doctors, nags me to go outside and get fresh air. I tell
him that if I wanted to go outside, I'd be there already. Even in
his condition, the man has to be annoyingly meddlesome.
That's not
all. When we're alone he talks again about how we need to “get the
hell out of Arizona”. He blames inanimate objects for his ills, so
a whole State is nothing. And he has money coming whenever they
finish his case. I wonder if it's the same type of case he had for
20-30 years in NY that made that State Dadzilla Enemy #1. It's the
mesothelioma class action suit everyone has heard about. Of course
his breathing difficulty has to do with mesothelioma from chemicals
he once worked with. It couldn't possibly be from smoking for 55-60
years. They took his case anyway, so who knows? What kills me is
that he dismisses out-of-hand the possibility that his trouble has to
do at all with smoking for decades.
“Wah wah wah
wah, wah wah, wah wah wah”. Charlie Brown's teacher is all I hear
since I now have a headache. That doesn't stop him. “Wah wah wah,
wah, wah wah”. I wonder if they've ever taken someone's voice box
out just for the hell of it.
After all is
said and done, they tell him his blood work and exams all come out
normal. Therefore, they give him a nebulizer to use right there in
the ER and a prescription for one for home. They also give him a
prescription for some topical cream for some type of ringworm they
say is pretty common. He still swears up and down it's from the
black mold in his shower. Dadzilla the expert doctor.
Turns out the
nebulizer works, and we're back on our way home. There's more pep in
his step and he talks the entire way home, so I know he's ok. I'm
telling you, he doesn't stop talking for 60 seconds the entire way.
Sweet Jesus, get me home! Oh, look. No parking spaces, so I get to
park up half a block after dropping Dadzilla off at the entrance. I
can never park straight on the street, but I figure if both tires are
within a foot of the curb, all is well.
I go through
our gate. He is telling his trials and tribulations to some other
tenants. I go into our apartment and get my coffee I finished brewing 5
hours ago. The coffee helps my headache. I go online and check
email and so forth. Then...oh, good. The awesome internet we have
decides to break, just like every other weekend at some point. I'm
fed up. The coffee gets rid of my headache, but doesn't prevent me
from taking a nap. So that's what I do.
And here I sit
for the night, without internet. Hopefully, the nebulizer will allow
Dadzilla to sleep in his own bed for more than an hour at a time,
rather than on the couch. That way, I'll at least be able to watch
TV and/or cook something in peace.
<Pepto Bismol...> <Dr. Welby Never>
<Pepto Bismol...> <Dr. Welby Never>
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