Momnesia

Sh*t My Dad Does

AUGUSTA, GA. - My dad had a spell with low blood sugar last Thursday that put him in the hospital. If my sister hadn't realized something was wrong, or hadn't called 911, he wouldn't be here right now. He's a 69-year-old diabetic golf fanatic Braves fan and doting grandfather, and he has a lot of years to live. But he's having trouble managing his diabetes.

After being released from the hospital, he argued every instruction he was given (as expected), but generally is giving it his best shot. I bought him a new blood monitor and the equipment to go along with it, and put together a kit about the size of a paperback novel. It holds emergency glucose pills, Glucerna bars, his blood monitor, alcohol swabs, extra lancets, his blood tracking booklet, a pen, and the vast instruction book that goes along with his monitor. If you see him without it, slap some sense into him.

I lectured my parents on the difference between whole grains and whole wheat, on avoiding white foods like bread, potatoes, and pasta, and on adjusting food intake to his blood sugar readings. High blood sugar =  low carb. Low blood sugar = healthy carbs. They got it, although they needed their baby girl lecturing them like they need holes in their heads.

My sister is the one who gets to take care of them, because she lives in Conyers. I live two hours away, and that was an awfully long two hours when I drove it last Thursday. I thought something was amiss with the space-time continuum.

I got there 10 minutes before visiting hours ended, and dragged poor Emmie through the hospital at breakneck speed to see him before they kicked us out. We were there for an hour, and no one asked us to leave. They were very kind.

But two things struck me while I was there: Augusta's hospitals are awesome; and my parents are getting older. They'll need more help from me in the future.

How did that make me feel, you might ask? It made me feel great, actually! I'm looking forward to doing everything I can to help them the way they helped me.It will be an honor and a privilege to care for them, in whatever capacity they will allow.

Of course, my sister is the one frog-legging it through their house's crawl space in a haz-mat suit to check the moisture levels and put down tarp where necessary. And she's the one who took him to the doctor, where Daddy threw a magazine at her head when she dared question if he was cleared to play golf tomorrow. I wish I'd been there. To film it. And post it on Facebook.

This is gonna be fun!