...was Wednesday, January 6th, as the day began with doctors telling my Dad that he should be making plans to go home from the hospital in a day or two, turned suddenly fear-fraught as his heart stopped beating while he sat in a chair, turned agonizingly anxious as repeated electro-shocks and a temporary pacemaker were unable to keep that heart from seizing up, turned tragically somber as we were told to come to the hospital to say our goodbyes, turned apprehensive with dread as we were asked to consider what lengths we - and, by extension, he - were willing to go to keep machines doing the living for him.
And then the morning came. A regular heartbeat, weaning from the ventilator, a drawing-down of dosages, responsiveness, color, life. Doctors again talk of him going home, equipped with a unit to shock his heart back into rhythm when needs; weary nurses - who responded to at least four Code Blues - talk of a "miracle."
Toldja my Dad was a fighter. But whether his younger progeny can take another 24 hours like that is up for discussion.
And all throughout it, wonderful folks were giving me awards. Well, maybe not me per se, but this Interwebbian extension of the contents of my horror-filled cranium - or, if you prefer, Jar. My heartfelt (absolutely no pun intended) thanks go out to the talented and terror-iffic titans behind these blogs -
Chuck Norris Ate My Baby
Dinner With Max Jenke
Planet of Terror
All Things Horror
- all of whom saw fit to bestow either the One Lovely Blog or Kreativ Blogger award upon The Jar, and were overly-effusive in their praise and generous in their sentiments. I get very Old School when someone does something nice for me, folks - I cry like a big ol' baby. (I take after my Dad in that regard.) The Jar is not yet three months old, and to receive these from folks whose work I admire and enjoy genuinely moves this here old phart, and inspires me to even bigger and better things...and they will come. (My apologies if time and present circumstance don't permit me to follow through on some of the requests of the awards; it in no way diminishes my gratitude.) And when Dad comes around, I'll tell him what you've done. Nothing makes him feel better than when people say nice things about his sons.
Again, to all my followers and readers, and especially to my newest ones, in the words of the final line of Fight Club, "You met me at a very strange time in my life." Rest assured that I'll be keeping The Jar open, digging out little tidbits every day, and the walloping massive reviews and posts will see their day in the sun again, I promise.
All you hearts out there, you keep beatin' now, ya hear?