Holes

Dad used to sing this song when I was young. Almost always in the car. I don't know the title, but it goes something like this...

There's a hole, there's a hole.
There's a hole in the bottom of the sea.
There's a log in the hole in the bottom of the sea.
There's a log in the hole in the bottom of the sea.
There's a hole, there's a hole.
There's a hole in the bottom of the sea.

You continue to add to it, until you eventually end up with:
There's a speck on the flea on the hair on the fly on the wart on the frog on the knot on the log in the hole in the bottom of the sea.

This is something that I felt obligated to pass onto my children. Who now think I'm crazy.

...


The doctor wants to put another hole in my father. This time into his stomach, presumable from somewhere in his belly. They want to remove the feeding tube, which is presently reaching his stomach via the hole in his nose. This would allow them to remove the feeding tube, something I'm sure he would appreciate. I'm worried about more procedures and the risk of infection, but I'll defer to those more medically gifted than myself to advise us on what is best for his health and longevity.

At the same time, there is some level of concern, or at least caution, as it relates to bowel movements. Since he hasn't had one for the last 8 days. In his defense, I'm not sure anyone would, if they had to subsist on the brown liquid that fits down the feeding tube. Regardless, they are working to make sure that all of the plumbing is still functioning as it should.

Obviously, Dad is still on the catheter as well. But this is sort of funny. I don't know how, I wasn't privy to that part of the story, but the catheter bag fell from the bed. My oldest daughter (the one that plans on being a doctor) made "icky" noises, and was thoroughly grossed out. My youngest daughter gave her a dirty look, reached over and picked up the bag and hooked it back on the bed.

Finally, the incision in his scalp continues to heal. But it does continue to bleed a little. Something about the sight of blood on his pillow or hand (he rests his head on his left hand a lot) is still disconcerting. Nobody panics, and the nurses reassure us that this is normal, it just needs more time to fully heal and close up.

...

My oldest insisted on reading jokes to Dad for a while earlier today. Now, I'm the first to admit that I'm not very tolerant when it comes to 12 year old humor. But Dad was fairly alert and seemed to be listening to both her and my youngest as they took turns reading from their magazines. Long after I would have asked her to stop, he gently reached up and took the magazine from her. She cooperated, wanting to see what he was interested in. He closed the magazine and layed it on his chest.

I have a new respect for barbers. It's much harder to shave a face that isn't your own. But I'm getting better. Some time after our return from Disney last June, Dad gave in and bought the same electric razor that I use. Had it been any other razor, I wouldn't have known how to keep it charged, or clean. For that matter, I wouldn't have understood how to get the closest shave by moving it this way, or the other along the jaw line. He looks better cleanly shaven, and I like to think that it makes him a little more comfortable.