While driving back from NC a couple of weekends ago, I got a phone call from an unknown number with a 614 area code. I looked at my friend Karen who was driving and said, “This can’t be good.”
Papa Knascar had been admitted to the ER and subsequently admitted to the ICU. Phrases like “collapsed lung” and “coughing up blood” flitted in and out of my consciousness while my mind raced to figure out how quickly I could get home. I was stuck in NC for another 24 hours before I could even think about getting back to VA, throwing together some clothes and heading to Columbus, but that’s exactly what happened.
I’ve been in the Buckeye State for a week now. Papa K is doing much better now (conscious, eating solid food, out of the ICU, cranky) but terribly weak, and I’m here for the foreseeable future. He has these illusions that I’ll be home by this weekend, while I’m not sure if he’s ever going home again.
For that matter, I’m not sure if I’m ever going home again, at least not permanently. Intellectuallly, it makes sense for me to pack up my life and move back to Ohio until things have run their course, but I’m just not sure. It’s a big step and one I’m not sure I’m mature enough to make.
I’ll tell you one thing though – I’m damn tired of this hospital.