Have a heart

Last week was one of the most nerve-wracking weeks I've ever had, and truth be told, I'm really glad it's over.

My dad went in for bypass surgery (or open-heart surgery, as the doctors called it. Which freaked my Mom and I out, so we opted for the more vague but less-scary-sounding "bypass"). Initially, the doctors told him they'd be bypassing three arteries (triple bypass!!), but they actually ended up bypassing five.

He's fine now. A little loopy from the pain meds and bored by the hospital routine, but other than that, he's on the mend. He's no longer hooked up to the oxygen canister or sporting the plastic-mustache tube that delivered the oxygen. He doesn't have all the IVs and other liquid-filled bags hooked into him. (At one point, I counted 14 bags simultaneously dripping stuff into him.) As I write this, he's still in the hospital, but may go home today or tomorrow.

I'd like to say that in his hour of need, my family responded in the most graceful, mature manner possible. Of course, anyone who's met my family knows that is a lie. Instead, we handled it in the typical Dinsdale fashion: with nervous laughter, inappropriate jokes, and the constant threat of being tossed out of my dad's room for being too loud, or having too many family members crammed into his tiny room. (We patently ignored the "two visitors at a time" rule the entire time.)

But at least we all responded together. Between my immediate family, aunt, uncle, and cousins, we filled up half the ICU waiting room. There were 10 of us nervously pacing, trying to distract ourselves with smartphones, email, magazines, the giant TV, or by diving into any one of the seven containers of cookies. (Apparently, in my family, cookies are love, because everybody brought a batch.) We tried to distract my mom, who held up very well until the last hour.

And as scary as it all was (and still is), at least we went through it all together. It's so cliche to say at least we were all together, but it's the truth. I was relieved that my oldest brother was paying attention (and understanding) all the info the doctors gave us. I was grateful that my mom's siblings were there to hug her, and be her rock, as they've done their whole lives. I was blessed that my sister-in-law took over the home front, cooking while we waited in the ICU, and watching the kids so that we could focus on my dad. And I was glad to be surrounded by my own siblings (and cousin), just as my mom was, and receiving their brand of comforting, which involved a lot of playful punching and insults (that's how they show their love--why say the words "I love you, sis" when a jab to the kidneys will do?).

Like I said, my dad's made a lot of progress, and he's one tough dude -- he even has an awesome new scar to prove it. (I told him chicks dig scars.) My mom's hanging in there -- she's pretty tough herself.

So now we just wait a little longer. A little longer, and he'll come home. A little longer, and he'll be feeling better. A little longer, and he'll be up and walking around, joking like he usually does, and acting silly with the grandkids.

And I'll be grateful for it all.