Home of the edible chad

The quick update: my Dad is doing great. Full recovery. The whole process has been quite remarkable.

The story: Looks like I picked an interesting weekend to be in Tampa. There's this festival called Gasparilla going on (sound). Basically it's Mardis Gras in Florida, but with a pirate theme. Yes, that includes beads and topless girls. I know, it couldn't really get any better, right?

They have a children's parade the weekend before, which led Jon Stewart to wonder why you'd want to teach your child about Mardis Gras. Florida, tis a silly place.

I've mentioned before how you never see fat women here. Well, I found them. They're all nurses. Every one of them.

But not the doctors. The female doctors are all pretty skinny. I saw one sexy blonde little thing wearing a skirt, nylons, and high heels doing rounds in her white coat, which contrasted well with her ruby red lipstick. Florida.

Forget for a minute the inherent contradiction of a McDonalds in a hospital: I'll never get used to seeing fat people in hospital gowns with IVs in line for big macs. Or standing around smoking. I would call out Florida, but you'd probably see that anywhere.

I was behind a huge fat lady in the cafeteria who bought 4 gorditas (there's a Taco Bell too), 3 chocolate chip cookies, and a large Pepsi. There's no helping some people. I'm not exactly a model of perfect health, but at least I get a 6 inch turkey on wheat with a diet Coke.

Hospitals are weird places. There's alot more variation of care and luck involved than you might think. Get in good with the nurses, and you get food after hours. Ask certain doctors too many questions, and they shut off your information.

My Dad's room has a beautiful western view. We watch the sunset every night. On the night of the children's parade, a pirate ship "invaded" Tampa Bay and shot off its cannons (they invade again tomorrow). Then there were fireworks, right out the window.

I haven't seen sunsets this colorful since I lived in West Virginia. That's some good pollution they got here.

Some poor guy fell into the engine room on the fireworks barge and lost his foot. You learn things in the hospital elevator.

My Dad's room is right next to the nurses' station, which is both good and bad. It's good because you can get their attention easily. But there are downsides.

Today we heard the unmistakable sound of a flatline and the subsequent commotion. Alerts and announcements went over the sound system while the staff ran about. Someone isn't having a good evening tonight.

On the way home there was an accident blocking all traffic on Bayshore, my way "home". I was kinda pissed until I saw the crotch rocket crumpled up against the back of an SUV. I'd be surprised if he lived. I wonder if he was an organ donor?

Of course I'm going to change my status to be a donor now. It would be pretty damn hypocritical not to.

You never know how you're going to react to situations like these until they happen. The effects trickle down in ways you can't anticipate. I saw that motorcycle (or "donorcycle") and my eyes immediately welled up. Ordinarily I wouldn't give a shit, let alone for a suicidal guy on a rocket.

But there it was laid bare, not a quarter mile from where one stranger cut my Dad open and put another stranger's heart in him. Someone died and my Dad got to live. Was he/she a father/mother? They won't tell us anything other than the age, but someone's Dad or sister or son didn't make it. Someone else's family is grieving while mine rejoices. It's wonderful and unfair at the same time.

He was in a coma for a few days and the doctors were preparing us. It's hard to even think about it. My Dad looks better now than he did before the transplant -- and believe me, elation is the overriding emotion -- but it will always be with me, when we weren't sure.

Not to get negative though. Everything is coming up roses, so it won't do to look back.


I hope everyone else is doing well. I'll be sure to report back on the party and Spamalot, which is in town.

BTW, Garlic wins the O'Hare bet. My second flight was a paltry 20 minutes late, better than usual.