"I'm having chest pains and they are taking me to the Hospital".
Words you never want to hear under normal circumstances, even worse when it's your 72 year old Dad saying them to you.
Pop had a heart attack 2 years ago June, and in September of '05 had quintuple bypass surgery. So when he says the magic words "chest pain" and "hospital" your adrenalin kicks into overdrive.
Good news? The doctors are 99.9% sure it's nothing wrong with his heart. Most likely it's due to running around like a mental patient for the last 2 weeks, not getting enough rest, and being a workaholic.
This morning, we're pretty sure the 4 am wake up to go to the gym, a sausage biscuit and a cup of coffee (a no no for someone who's had a heart attack) and forgetting to remember to bring a nitroglycerin pill with him didn't exactly do wonders for his condition.
Now, even though the doctors are relatively sure nothing is wrong, Dad has convinced himself he needs to have a cauterization just so he can know for sure. Granted, he's a grown man and I'm not gonna change his mind, but for some reason I just have a problem with a man his age going under anesthesia when it's not actually necessary. I guess I'm just funny that way.
One of these days I'll be worrying my boys (and girl) the same way my Pop worries me, I'm sure. I'm not exactly known in the family as being the most healthy of men, and try to avoid doctors and hospitals like the plague.
I really need some baseball to take my mind off of Dad, the market, the stress, and real life. Of course, if this off season is anything like the past few the Red Sox have been in, Pop and I may be sharing a room in the cardiac unit.
Late addition: I fear I've passed on my Red Sox obsession already. As I was putting Ciera to bed, she asked me if Manny was going to be well enough to play in the postseason. She is nine. And a girl.
What in the name of all that is good and holy have I done? Not only to her, but her future husband? At least I can be pretty confident she won't marry a Yankee fan.