My dad had surgery, It was wildly successful,went far better than any of us hoped it would. Now he's recovering at home.
No one ever talks about how once the initial health crisis is over, the
recovery becomes the real challenge. In fact, it's a real bitch.
Post-delivery, my father is the grumpiest, most miserable person I've
ever had to deal with. And I'd love to be able to be able mention with
fake modesty how I've managed to persevere and have been the
model-caretaker through this getting better process.
But the truth is half the time I want to slap him and I have snapped a
couple of times in response to his rudeness, inconsideration and general
Debbie Downer ways. Some days, I wish I was back in New York and
blissfully unaware of what's going on.
I'm an awful daughter.