7 years ago this month, my dad had cardiac bypass and valve replacement surgery. he's been fit as a fiddle ever since.
lately, he's been getting very fatigued after he does something strenuous, like, for example, work out at the gym which, despite being almost 84-years old, he does 3 times a week. as does my mom.
he's also been having chest pressure (not pain) following exertion.
his cardiac doctor thought he might need a stent or something like that and so, in order to find out for sure, dad had a heart cath a coupla weeks ago. everything looked great, they said. no problems. none. what. so. ever.
which is, obviously, great news.
but it doesn't explain why he's still getting fatigued after doing things like exercising or walking around the block or going up a ladder and coming right back down.
and it doesn't explain why, for the first time in his life, he had to take a nitroglycerin pill a coupla days ago because the chest "pressure" was "too much."
as we were having lunch together today, my dad and mom were telling me what's next, from a diagnostic standpoint. he's scheduled to see his regular doctor on wednesday and, "we'll take it from there," dad said.
"have you ever gotten fatigued or had chest pressure or anything at all after just normal activities - like what we're doing right now - or is it always after something strenuous, " i asked, (as if i'd just graduated from vanderbilt medical school or something).
"no," my dad and mom said in unison, "only after something strenuous."
"well, that's good. i guess, " i said. and they said, "yeah, that's good. i guess."
after lunch, we drove over to a hip little bakery for coffee and dessert.
we weren't there long.
"i'm beat," my dad said.
i looked at my mom. she looked at me.
"whaddya mean you're beat?" we asked.
"i mean i'm tired," he sorta snapped. "i mean, come on, donna, let's go!"
we got up, abruptly, and left.
"let me drive, don," my mom said.
"i can drive!" my dad said, in the macho kind of tone of voice that men his age often use. i mean, in the macho kind of tone of voice that men often use.
"donald! let. me. drive!" she said again, but she knew darned good and well - as did i - that she wasn't gonna win this argument. no sense trying. if my dad was gonna have a heart attack, my mom would only bring it on sooner by arguing with him.
they dropped me off at my door and as i got out of the car i said, "dad, don't be stupid, ok? you bossed me around for a bajillion years, now it's my turn. go to the doctor sooner than wednesday. please? for me?"
"yeah, yeah," he said, as they drove off into the sunset. i could see my mom shaking her head, as if to say, "you can't tell that man anything. you can't tell him anything."
after they left, i was talking to abby and i told her about my dad - her grandpa. her beloved grandpa.
"maybe i should call him, mom," she said. "do you think if i call him, he'd listen?"
"nah," i said. "he wouldn't listen if God called him! mattera fact........if God came down here right this minute and said to him, "listen here, donald wilson rankin, get your be-hind to the e.r. this instant," dad would look at God like he was some kind of alien or something and he'd probably say, "who do you think you are? you're no doctor!"
"besides, " i told abby, "we may not agree with his decision, but he has the right to make it. he's of sound mind. he deserves the dignity of not having us telling him how to run his life."
but i'm just a little worried, that's all.
because he's my dad, that's why.
and i love him.
