I'm trying to hold back a sarcastic remark about the lack of response to my announcement that my only sibling is in the hospital with heart problems. Only Carly left me a comment about it. In fact, hers is the only comment I've had in several days. This really shouldn't surprise me, given Blogger's recent problems and the very light online activity that resulted. You can't comment if you can't get to the blog. You can't even blog if you can't get to a blog.
Really, I shouldn't complain, anyway. When I see a posting about someone's illness, or family member's illness, or a death in the family, I often don't comment myself. I seldom know what to say, especially to someone I don't know all that well. And other people have more severe problems. Just yesterday, some J-Lander I've never heard of lost a husband. I'm sure she needs and deserves your support far more than I do. See, it looks like Steve is going to live. As far as I can tell, anyway.
Information about my brother has been tough to come by. Although my dad flew out to Cleveland last night, he didn't actually get to see him until today. I didn't know that, so I was worried. Unable to reach my dad's cell phone, I called the hospital phone humber he'd given me. The first number connected me to the nutrition department. The second one got me to the switchboard. An automated router got me to patient information. They didn't have any. The woman disavowed all knowledge of a patient named Funk, or the existence of a bed 24A. Okay, I thought. Maybe he's gone home already. So I waited for my dad's call.
Meanwhile, my dad found his way to the same hospital, a regional one with a weird name, part of a chain of hospital facilities. He initially got the same answer I did: no such patient, no such room. It turned out that Steve was moved to another affiliated hospital at 1AM last night. So my 82-year-old dad got back in his rented car, and navigated to a second hard-to-find hospital.
The news is fair to middlin'. No blockage, but the heart muscle is weak. He's got high blood pressure, apnea, and arrhythmia. The doctors say it's all obesity-related. He may get a pacemaker, or an ICD (Implantable Cardioverter Defibrillator). We don't really know yet. We don't know much of anything, really. But Dad's extending his stay, because chances are good that Steve will be sent home while his housemate is out of town at a conference. "He deserves to have a family member take him home," Dad said.
I don't talk about Steve much in this blog, and I'm not really comfortable writing even as much about him as I've done here tonight. We live thousands of miles apart, see each other rarely, and don't communicate all that much. But he saw me through some rough times when I was a kid. He's my brother and I love him.
And I can't help but wonder: is this where I'm headed in seven years, if I don't lose weight myself?
P.S. You probably won't see me around much this weekend. I have a lot of work to do at the office, and this time I can't afford to put it off until Monday. But I'll catch up as best I can, when I can. Good night!