So dad is still in ICU, they still don't know what is wrong with him - being a grumpy old socialist is not a diagnosis apparently.
Intermittent days of dialysis have drained him of 12 litres of fluid that had gathered in his hands, feet, belly and elsewhere. After a few days liquid started to appear in his lungs and they've drained about a litre and half from there. Today's nurse reckons they'll probably unhook him from stuff tomorrow and see if he can move about at all, which will be difficult after a week flat on his back.
He's eating, drinking, cracking wise, telling stories when he gets an audience, and cursing the government and management for their failings and incompetence. So business as usual.
He's thinking of writing a book and starting a political party, and he's really not on any painkillers, so i'm not sure where this has all come from.
Greek Paramedic 2 came to get me, when SuperMegs life got in her way - daughter's relationship drama this time. So she was unable to pick me up as planned and didn't make it until being able to come and retrieve me at the end of the day.
I slept about four hours before i woke up and then my brain wouldn't shut the fuck up and let me go back to sleep. So, thanks brain, you useless piece of meat.
I eventually got out of bed after pmac left for work, and blundered around for a bit, before trying to get my shit together and start my day.
i got sidetracked and just realised i am already spinning this hard
GP2 came and saved me from myself after breakfast, and i was really not presentable. I picked up that a wraith ICP shirt was not appropriate for a hospital ICU, so at least there was that. I was a bit confused. I'd overheard myself arguing with myself. I was overfull from a breakfast i've had a hundred times, but today looked like way too much food, but i ate it eventually.
I had a coffee (and it's possible everything else that happens for the next few hours is due to this).
No cannot do this now.