Bedtime Blues

We made it out alive.

After two days at the hospital trying to find out what was going on with my dad, we were released and are now home.

Home is a good place to be.

It’s also pretty awesome that even though my dad is having difficulty knowing which city, state, year and century he’s living in or what 65 minus 7 equals, the extensive testing they did deleted a few scary words like stroke, dementia, and Alzheimer’s.

(And for the record, he absolutely, without hesitation, knows his name birthday and what 5 times 13 equals.)

All of this is pretty awesome, except the dude still can’t finish a sentence 90% of the time.

Best quote of the adventure from my dad? After the doctors left the room to consult he looked at us and said, “Aw, shucks. I think we’re gonna get chewed out.”

The did not chew him out. In fact, everything in the brain looked normal to the doctors so they are headed toward the idea his behavior may be sleep apnea-ish stuff or some other sleep-related disorder.

Which could be true. But when the ladies of the family got together to discuss we decided his interrupted sleep pattern could have another name:

Sophie and Gidgette. The dogs.

Apparently he’s been getting up about three times each night to let the dogs out to go to the bathroom.

Which means he’s been in the sleep pattern of a mom with a newborn for about three years.

And I know how exhausted I am after doing that for just a few months.

My dad totally gets what the mom of a newborn goes through! That’s kind of cool.

Unless he starts lactating or something. And if he does that we are definitely not leaving a hospital without answers.

Anyway, long, long story short, he’s now home in his own bed and my sister has a new dog named Gidgette and we have a new dog named Sophie.

My sister got the physically disabled Llaso Apso and we got the mentally disabled toy poodle.

That’s our news.

In a related story, it’s starting to freeze at night here in our mountaintop town. So the dogs will be spending more and more time inside.

Let’s go over the equation again: 821 square feet. Two adults. Three children. Three toy poodles. One Great Dane.

That’s 91.2 square feet of space (including the closets) per mammal.

Oh, joy! Oh, rapture! An opportunity to demonstrate faith!

Can’t wait.

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3 thoughts on “Bedtime Blues

  • October 9, 2011 at 8:07 am
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    I will NOT complain about my 1100 square foot house, two adults, three kids, one spaniel, and a hope for a foster baby….I will NOT complain!

    Reply
    • October 9, 2011 at 8:26 am
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      Oh, you can still mention that’s a little bit snug! And I need to stop mentioning it incessantly and just be grateful for a roof over our heads.

      Reply
  • October 9, 2011 at 10:35 am
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    Glad to hear that it wasn’t a stroke.. you all have been in our prayers. We did the 800 sq ft thing with 3 kids a long time ago.. so much fun.. moved up to 1100 and have lived it for 24 years.. now just two of us with one old dog.. plenty of space.. LOL

    Thanks for the update..

    Reply

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