jamesq | Jul. 2nd, 2004

Well I've moved into my new house. It's sweet.

I had a reoccurring fantasy where I invite a beautiful women over the first night I had my new place. We share chocolate fudge, I give her a long massage and we spend the rest of the weekend christening each of the rooms in with lots of kinky sex.

Well that didn't happen. Instead, my plans for an early, easy move were thwarted. It was somewhat more work than I thought, and just as I was settling in for the evening I got a phone call with bad news.

It seems my father's condition (he was recovering from pneumonia in Foothill's hospital) has worsened. They ended up taking him out of the nursing ward and into the intesive care unit. Then they started asking awkward questions.

"Do you want us to stick a tube into his lung to help him breath?"
"If his heart stops, do you want us to do anything about it?"

There's nothing quite like being asked if you should let your father die to really bring on the stress.

At this point we're all hoping that dad will recover without his heart stopping. But that puts us back to a point where he comes down with pneumonia again and he's even weaker next time.

I'm afraid it's only a matter of time.