Where ya been, kid?

My father had to sneeze yesterday. It was his first sneeze in a couple weeks. The first sneeze since skilled surgeons cut the meat between three of his ribs, deflated his left lung, and slung another wire into a chamber of his heart. The procedure, which allows his pacemaker to strengthen both sides of his heart (rather than a single side, as it had before), will allow him to live longer, better, and happier in the long run.

But first he had to get through the sneeze. "It was like my chest was being pulled apart again. I yelled 'YOW!' scaring your poor mother half to death and sent the dogs into a barking frenzy because they thought I was being attacked." It was an experience, he said, that he hopes not to go through again until the incisions and stitches have healed. Can you imagine being scared of a sneeze?

Before my dad went into surgery, he did his best to reassure me, my mom, and assorted family members that it was no big deal, he had the best of the best working on him, etc... And while all of this seemed like the truth, it didn't stop me from nearly crying on the phone as I said my "I love you and good luck" the night before he went in. What if that had been the last time I had spoken with my father? Would I always remember that he had been softly poking fun at my mom, in good spirits, and laughing as we said goodbye. It's pretty overwhelming to think about, and I thank whatever power it is out there that my father came home and only has to complain about recuperation.

Crazy what some people go through in a week or two isn't it?