I took a time out from my own grief today and along with another friend, played a good prank on our two newest teachers at school. (One teacher is going through chemotherapy, the other's mother survived being accidentally run over by a motor home. It's a tough time for both.) On the front door of both classrooms was a sign that said "Prepare for a heart attack." Then we covered their desks, drawers, floor and every flat surface with hearts. (I give Brenna credit for the idea.) We had heart chocolates and puns on hearts and even put hearts in ther attendance books and student folders. They will be finding hearts for a long time to come. My partner walked in and said "What now? Prepare for a heart attack!!!???" She sounded like "Don't I have enough on my plate without this too?" but when she saw the hearts she was so happy that she started crying. It was great! She didn't know it was me (and my accomplice) until she found the hearts in the refridgerator only on her food. Drats! I'm not an expert yet at all this covert stuff. The other teacher was thrilled, too, and it felt so good to get my mind off my problems and be able to make someone happy during this trying time.
And what about the REAL heart attack victim? He's in ICU. They were going to release him, but during some routine vitals check they discovered his blood pressure was REALLY low and he was immediately surrounded by ten people and they moved him to ICU. Since then he's had trouble graduating to a regular room--a prerequisite for going home. My head almost exploded the other night when a nurse told me my dad's heart was only functioning at 10% capacity...She had the wrong patient!!! Dad's actual heart is fine...it's the veins leading to the heart. So we were devastated by this new bad news for about 20 minutes before she realized her error and apologized profusely. Mistakes happen, and I don't hold it against this woman, but my heart hurts and this was one time that I just wanted to go home and cry. I don't know how people cope when the medical crisis goes on and on. Mine's only been a month-- October 20 to November 21. I feel like such a whiner. My dad is an easy patient, and most likely will make a full recovery. There's much to rejoice about, but I'm not always good at seeing the tapestry created from life's knots.