Phone call (1 of 2)
My enemy is still nameless and faceless, but we know it lives in my father's bones.
When I tried to call Dad's hospital room yesterday, nobody answered the phone. I assumed that was because he was having a test done at the time. Instead, he explained, he was asleep at around noon yesterday. Under the most ordinary of circumstances, he is a heavy sleeper (not unlike his youngest daughter in that regard), but the morphine makes him sleep very deeply.Amidst the discussion of hospital life, he casually slipped in news that I hadn't expected yet—that his bone marrow biopsy had come back positive. His doctors are still mystified that his liver biopsy came back negative; both of them had expected both the liver and marrow biopsies to return positive results. With that said, he went back to detailing the more typical problems of hospital life: the manual control for his pain medication had died. It took many hours before they found a nurse willing to at least check the equipment.
Once the faulty equipment had been replaced, Dad was able to get his pain medication, and life has been quite a bit better since then.
Four inches of snow on the ground, Mom says, enough of a roadway mess which means that she'll probably stay at the hospital again tonight. No ice, and no sleet like what we got here last night.
Dad was in good spirits. Mom has been assuring me over the past few days that he has been, but it was gratifying to hear it for myself. I'm not sure I'd be able to take the news of a positive result from a bone marrow biopsy with the same aplomb he apparently has.
Maybe there's something about this morphine business that's worth looking into.