Lighter

t w e n t y - s e v e n

the worst is over,
you can have the best of m e . . .

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Most twenty-one-year-old's would have somewhat of an action-packed Friday night planned out for themselves. Plans that include being out from dusk to dawn, stumbling home after hours at a bar or a club. Anything to get away from our cramped homes and be with friends or strangers.

On the contrary, mine was being spent at a hospital.

It's been four days with my dad there, and I slept over almost every night. The only time I didn't was last night since I had my dreadful, early Friday morning Economics class today. Whether I wanted to stay with him or not, my dad wouldn't let me. School came first, apparently.

After I somehow survived the unseasonable lecture, just as I do every week, I got brunch for myself, showered, and waited at home until I had to pick Haleigh up from school. She then notified me that she was going to a sleepover at her friend's house and needed a ride, so I was waiting again. The hour she took to pack her bag and talk on the phone with her posse consisted of me on the couch, staring at the ceiling in silence. I'd yelled something about "how long does it take to pack a bag for one night", but I think she ignored me.

Once I dropped her off, I made my way to the hospital for the evening. A lively Friday night, at that.

"Dinner time!" Tamara, my dad's nurse of the day, came caroling in with a tray of food. They alternated every day, but we'd seen her the most out of all the nurses. She was hilarious, a goofy Southern belle at that, but she knew what she was doing when it came to her job.

"Oh boy!" My dad mimicked her cheery tone.

She rolled her eyes as she plopped the tray down on the rolling table, adjusting it so it was hovering over my dad's lap. "You know, the sarcastic charm is gonna wear off soon if you keep it up," she retorted, her wild curls springing around as she shook her head. "You're lucky it hasn't been that long, or else we'd all be sick of you."

"I don't think you could ever be sick of me, T," he smiled up at her.

Tamara looked at me now. "He thinks he's a ladies man 'cause all the nurses have a teeny crush on him," she muttered. I just laughed, not really knowing how to respond to that, and continued munching on the cookies I bought from the vending machine.

"Thanks for dinner," my dad crooned.

"I'll be back in a little bit," she smirked, squeezing his shoulder.

We both thanked her before she left, as my dad took off the tray's lid to reveal his dinner. Chicken soup, mashed potatoes, a small bowl of steamed veggies, and butterscotch pudding for dessert. Much more gourmet than my two dollar cookies.

"She knows butterscotch pudding is my favorite so she always saves me one." My dad looked elated when he saw the Snack Pack. "Want any of this?"

"No, thanks though," I politely declined, pulling my legs up into the chair I was sitting in next to his bed. He shrugged and dug into the soup first, my eyes traveling over to his bandaged foot.

He ended up going with the surgery, since we knew it'd be the better option. It guaranteed the removal of the infection and it was the least time consuming. Tuesday morning when we woke up, myself groggy from falling asleep almost right after having an anxiety attack, we decided it. Dr. Sortzkin scheduled him for surgery the following day, which Aunt Farrah and Haleigh were able to make it in time for.

The actual surgery itself took barely fifteen minutes. They took him back, we sat in the respective waiting room, and watched the TV that displayed who was in surgery for what. As soon as the bar next to his name switched to In Recovery, Dr. Sortzkin came to get us. He said my dad did great, and that it would take awhile for the anesthesia to wear off. All we had to do was let him rest and then he'd be back to normal. Minus his big toe.