les reports on the lesdad

I apologize to those dear readers who are so addicted to the Lesblog that they are finding themselves with a bad case of withdrawal. You'll recall from my previous post that the Lesdad has had open heart surgery. It's a few days post-surgery now and the Lesdad is drifting in and out of reality, pulling at his various tubes, and painfully coughing up the yellow contents of his lungs (to the veritable cheerleading of the nurses who don't want that crap to stay down there to turn into pneumonia). All in all, heart surgery is not a pretty thing.

Lesdad is at the Ohio State University's Ross Heart Hospital. This is a shiny, state-of-the-art affair with marble tiles and brushed stainless-steel finishes. He lies propped in a bed behind a sliding glass door, a tangled mass of wires connecting him to bags and beeping computer screens. The Lesdad has not had a successful dental history so many of his "teeth" are floating in a mauve plastic cup. The Lesmom (they are divorced, but she still cares) put water in the mauve cup to keep the "teeth" comfortable and little flakes of chewing tobacco began floating about.

Which brings us to an interesting aspect of the Lesdad's situation: he doesn't take care of himself. In fact, he's been downright self-destructive for many years in more than the average owns-firearms-and-eats-too-much-comfort-food kind of way that is typical of rural Midwesterners. The Lesdad has dipped Skoal for longer than Les can remember. He has had addictions to prescription pain medication (for migraines, abdominal pain, etc). He manages his diabetes with copious quantites of beer. In his golden years, the Lesdad has become an alcoholic with the gout.

So while we all love the Lesdad and cherish fond memories of his quiet sense of humor, his willingness to get up at the crack of dawn to feed horses he never rode, and his soft spot for tomcats and good dogs, we also find ourselves frustrated at his apparent surprise and misery over something as serious as heart surgery.

While the Lesmom and I were visiting him this morning, the Lesdad wasn't entirely with us. He was disoriented now and again, thinking he was in Mexico or about to board a plane. Then he would recognize us and try to make coherent comments (sans teeth, the Lesdad is not so eloquent). At one point, he began to cry. I've never seen the Lesdad cry before. I wanted to give him a hug, but, of course, I couldn't--not just because I would hurt his cracked open chest but because we just don't do that in our family. So I did the next best thing and held his big hand and stroked his head.