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I awoke this morning to someone speaking with a very twangy, deep southern accent right in my ear. It was not a natural accent, it was someone trying to immitate the accent. It took me a few irritating seconds to realize that it was my alarm clock. I have no idea what the person said, I just know I angrily shut it off and immediately fell back asleep, dreaming that I was at the Charleston airport. I was checking my bags for the flight (to who knows where) when the lady behind the counter handed me a piece of paper that had three colorful squares on it, each labeled steps 1, 2, and 3. She explained that when my plane arrived, they would call my name and I was to answer in a loud, deep southern accent, “HERE I AM, THAT’S MY PLANE!” I had been the lucky person selected to do this, however, I had a choice as to whether I wanted to or not. I chose to not. And then, I woke up and thought, “What a dumb dream. I need to get up before I have any more of those.”
I took my dad to the doctor for his four week follow up from hernia repair. This was the last in a long series of needed surgeries. I had really worried about the surgery itself since dad’s track record was so terrible, but he came through with flying colors! The recovery was no problem, and Dr. Whyte is by far one of THE best surgeons in this area. He saved my dad’s life last year by performing a spleenectomy after detecting internal bleeding from dad’s car wreck. “He’s on blood thinners!” my concerned reaction when he said he would operate. Dad had just come through an emergency appendectomy that resulted in a 19 day hospital stay complete with a blood clot. “Maam, he will bleed to death if I do not operate immediately.” He saw my concern, the fear in my eyes, “He’ll be fine. He won’t be if we don’t operate, but he will make it if we do.”
Dr. Whyte sees the big picture, beyond his scope of practice. He told me not to hold dad back when dad asked to have a garden in the spring. Let him do what he wanted, because he would feel like he had no purpose if he couldn’t be productive. It was the best advice we ever received. He let dad have a few months of his beloved garden, and then called me to discuss how he was doing and if I thought he was ready for surgery. I think we all know that doctors like that are a rarity these days.
This follow up appointment was very positive, the doctor so happy with dad’s recovery. “You are looking great, young man!” He exclaimed, “So much better than before!” “I’m a survivor!” Dad tossed back. Doc just laughed, so pleased. He gave dad a big hug when we left. “I want to see you back in eight months.” “EIGHT MONTHS?!” exclaimed dad, “You’ll be an old man by then!” “Well I’m only 29.” Replied doc (he’s not, he’s close to my age). “No you’re not, you’ve had grey hair ever since I’ve known ya!” Dad joked. It was a good visit.
After we arrived home, dad got out of the car and said, “Well, thank ya.” and then, he stopped and looked me right in the eye for a minute. “I love ya.” I saw a tear in his eye. I went in for a big hug. His parting words in his weak, aging voice surprised me, “Yes indeed…you are…quite a girl…”
Wow. You need to understand that my dad is a self proclaimed non-demonstrator of emotion or affection. I’ve always known he loved me, but these times for us have been few and far between. I guess the trauma of the past 18 months has shown us how much we love each other and what we almost lost. My dad is a much weaker, aged shell of his former self – a mere 70 years old, yet seemingly older in appearance. But he has come so far, and we are thankful.
What does that have to do with my crazy dream this morning? Nothing, but since this post is more on the serious side, I thought I’d throw it in there to stick with the laugh factor. And if ANYONE has any idea what that dream is telling me, PLEASE, speak UP!!! Have a great evenin’, Ya’ll!