Daddy fell three times that Friday. The first time was early in the evening and Mama had to ask Jimmy to come over and help her get Daddy up. The second time was some time around 9 o'clock. That time she called both of the Billys and they got Daddy into the bed. The third and final time was a couple of hours later. Mama called me and said that she had called 9-1-1 and that the ambulance was on the way. She had asked Daddy before hand what he wanted her to do and he said he wanted to go to the hospital. He was too weak to take care of himself and Mama was not strong enough for the both of them. So the ambulance came. They EMS workers got Daddy up and then kept asking him if he didn't just want to get into bed. Was he really sure he wanted to go the hospital? Wouldn't he be more comfortable in bed? Finally, Daddy got pissed off and told them he wanted to go to the damn hospital. I'm sick and I want to go to the hospital. So they took him. Mama had already told me that she was certain he had a urinary tract infection. That she could smell it on him even after he had showered. It was inside of him. At the hospital they pretty much confirmed that he had MRSA. Not just an ordinary infection. They put him in CCU. He never left. It kept getting worse and worse. His kidney stopped working. They talked of dialysis but he'd have to go to Charlotte. And they didn't think he'd make the flight. They said he was so swollen. He had all this fluid going into his body and next to nothing coming out.
I asked Mama what I should do. Should I come? She said she didn't think so. I asked Wendy what she thought. She said she didn't know what to tell me. Tuesday I decided that if they were going to transfer him to Charlotte then I would fly down Friday and spend the weekend at the hospital. I wanted to see my Daddy. Mama told me Tuesday night that his eyes didn't look right. That it seemed like he'd had a stroke. That one side of his face seemed like it had drooped. They were planning on doing another CT scan Wednesday morning around 9am. I called John from work on Wednesday. It was my morning break. 9:15am. Had they done the scan? Not yet. I asked him to call me either way. I wanted to know the answer either way. I found Chris and gave him a run-down of my situation. Told him I was expecting a call. He said he'd patch it through to me as soon as he got it. I told him I wouldn't be able to work over on Friday because I needed to fly out that evening. He asked if I needed to take the day off. I said, No. I didn't think so. The morning passed. My stomach in knots. My heart in my throat. All out of whack. I'd hear the phone ring and wait... But no calls for me. That's good, I told myself. Good news is easier to with hold. Maybe John thinks it'll be better for me to find out good news on my lunch break. Lunch time crept up. Twelve o'clock. I raced for the break room. Grabbed my coat and lunch and was nearly out the door when Denise Gliddon grabbed me. Janet! There you are! I just paged you. You've got a phone call.
