I was making potato soup for youth group tonight and composing a post in my head about how exhausted the last few days have let me when my phone rang. Sister was calling from the parking lot of the restaurant where she had taken Dad for lunch. She wanted me to know he was on the way to the hospital via squad. His legs had given out on him coming out of the restaurant, and he had been too weak to even move his feet to help when the paramedics arrived. Sister thinks he looks jaundiced, too.
We had known since Monday that he was back in congestive heart failure. Brother had insisted that they weigh him at the doctor's office, and he had gained 40 lbs. They put him back on the high power diuretic and told him to come back in three weeks. He didn't know where Brother had put it when he brought him home, so he didn't start it until Wednesday afternoon. It hasn't worked. He still hasn't lost any weight. Brother was with him Thursday or Friday and said he was getting weaker. Sister was planning to take him to the doctor this coming Tuesday.
Brother leaves for a trade show early tomorrow morning. Sister is a teacher and has a 4 year old daughter. Sister wanted me to come right now, but I told her I couldn't. In the first place, I am too exhausted to safely make the drive. I need to go to youth group tonight, and I have several things on the calendar for tomorrow that I don't want to cancel. (Yes, I have two work events scheduled on my day off-- that's how crazy life has been.) At this point, my plan is to head up there Tuesday morning. Of course, my plans could change depending what they find when they get him to the hospital.
I have mixed feelings right now. Part of me is screaming, "See, this is why I can't move farther away." The rest is saying, "Well, if he dies now, that will be one less thing holding me to this area." He finished his last round of rehab December 23. He was back in his apartment for just over a month this time.