Funny how life goes on.

Great grandchildren and dad at the hospital.

Its amazing how the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Funny.

Hysterical even.

Dad's out of the hospital and walking around. He has a couple of therapists that come once or twice a week to check on him. This exercising has made quite an improvement on him. Who knew walking around would help him? Well, everyone did except dad ... and mom.

Dad went home from the hospital a few weeks ago, complete with party favors: two oxygen tanks (for the outside walks), one oxygen machine (for inside the house) and one c-pap for when he sleeps.

Lately his oxygen level has been quite high and normal, which means no oxygen machine, unless he needs the extra, but definitely he must use the c-pap for sleep.

His appetite is great ... things are great ... even baseball is back in dad's life.

Dad is SO alert, in fact, that he wants to do more around the computer, around the house, anywhere. Not that mom will allow this. No, not gonna happen. Mom is in charge and she makes sure it is understood that way.

How dad watched the baseball game.

When it comes to the computer, dad loves sitting and reading ... first email, then Cuba, then church, then whatever comes his way.

"¡Ignacio! ¡Tata! Ven acá" (Come here)
"Yeah, dad?"
"¿Sabías que ...?"
"No, papi, I didn't."
"¿Qué piensas tú de eso?" (What do you think about that?)

Considering that this will probably be the first time I hear about whatever it is he read that made him so interested, I will have little to say about it. But this answer does not satisfy him.

He needs my answer.

So he makes me read whatever he read and the talk about it.

Other times, he wants something done on the computer and he doesn't know how it is done.

But he doesn't really know what it is he wants done. He just knows he read abut something like it or saw something in a letter about it or even looked it over somewhere and wants me to get it done.

I hear Mighty Mouse ... 'Here I come to save the day ...'

And I do. And he gets confused. And I get confused. And he tries again. And I have no idea what he wants. And he can't explain. And he tells me something else. And he repeats himself. And I have no idea any more.

And mom comes in and tells us both to stop, we don't need this, why are you even doing this, its not important, go back to something else.

"Ay, Manolín"

Funny how this works. A few weeks ago, I was worried, and concerned, and whatever else you want to say, about dad being in the hospital. And what would happen. And how or if he would get better.

You know how it goes, when things are not great, well, patience kicks in and we must be nice and patient with the patient.

Then, he gets better.

And he starts to do more things.

And he starts to get back to some of his old ways.

And he gets on my nerves.

Funny how that happens.

Hysterical even.

Have you met fear?

Fear's been coming by and visiting me. Seems that I make a pretty good target. And why not? I mean, my mom and dad may be on their last legs ... so to speak. I already have had an innate fear of death since I was little. And now I have to face it with my parents.

Eventually I have to face it for me. But I'd rather avoid thinking about it.

Anyway.

I came to see mom and dad last week. Dad had to be taken to the hospital. His prostate cancer was wrecking his ADH which was in turn making him retain fluids which made his sodium levels extremely low. He was barely conscious.

By the time I came to see them, he was getting ready to leave the hospital. He seemed much better.

He started on some meds to help him with retaining fluids, etc. Honestly, he seemed much better. He had some sort of appetite, paid attention to people around him, he even talked and sang in his sleep. Granted, that last one was just amusing but it reminded me of the old dad, the one that I grew up with who would whistle or sing (in his croacky voice) some sort of Spanish or Cuban song that seemed appropriate at the time.

Made me smile.

He would walk around the house and from time to time would break out into some silly Cuban song. "Ay, Mama Ine' Ay Mama Ine'. Todo' los negros tomamos café" He sounded terrible, or so I thought, cause he basically had little or no pitch. I'd want him to stop.

I wish I could see that man again.

He even started reading his newspapers online and asking my opinion on events that, to be honest, I had not read up on .... like the education system in Cuba.

He loves to discuss all kinds of topics and political situations anywhere. You better know your politics and have some opinions around my dad.

Made me smile.

But fear ... who does not let an opportunity like this slip by, came along and sat next to me for a few ... "Let's chat"

See, in my experience (limited as it is at times), I see "getting better while sick" as a sign that the worse is coming .... or the end is coming. Lelo, my grandfather, was wide awake on Father's day then slipped back into his coma. About a month later he died.

"Yup. Seems it is happening again. You better get ready."

Yes, I react very well to fear. I can't live in fear but there it is. Staring at me. Taunting me. "Guess what dude? It could happen again." I hate fear. Fear sucks.

I left mom and dad on Saturday. Dad was waking, well, if you call it walking. He was a bit shaky but nothing major. He seemed to be on the road again.

Sunday I get a message from my sister. Dad is doing worse ("See ... I told you this would happen"). He could not get up. He could barely stand ... if anything ... even with his walker.

I basically did some quick laundry, and repacked what I had unpacked.

So now, besides the sodium levels being low, his lungs have not been taking care of his CO2. This made him dizzy and unable to stay awake. Which made mom fear that he would be in a coma from then on.

There's that word again.

Fear.

Dad does have a hard time staying awake. He is on a respirator, of sorts, that basically makes him breathe deeply so his lungs can get rid of the CO2 in his system. His own body was working against him. To poison him. Now, between the respirator and the oxygen, he seems ok.

Then there's the pneumonia. One lung only ... according to mom ... and she can hide facts and information better than most. But its there.

I came into the room and looked at dad. It was a strange juxtaposition of my dad, the machine, mom ... my brain was trying hard to wrap around it. He also did not seem like old dad.

Who is that weak old man? Who is he? Where's my dad?

Mom's had to point out to him that I am in the room. He looked around and, I don't know what he sees but it may not be me, and eventually he looked in my direction. I do talk so he'll look at where the voice is coming from.

When the nurses came in for the physical therapy ... that was not dad. Not my dad. Not my old dad. This dad had a hard time understanding. He had a hard time focusing. He had a hard time just being present.

Where's my dad?

"You'll be there some day. You'll see. And you are alone."

Damned fear.

I'm sitting next to him. The machine shoving oxygen into his lungs. Making him take deep breaths. He has his eyes closed. He shakes and twitches from time to time. The All Star Game is on TV. Baseball will always remind me of Dad. Of taking me to see Los Cangrejeros del Santurce. Of talking baseball for a long time. He is quiet.

Lying in the hospital bed next to me.

His eyes are closed and here,

here ....

I fear ....

nothing.