Saturday, while he was watching the U of M game at the bar, my Dad started seeing "snakes" -- squiggly lines -- through one of his eyes. He waited until after the game to go home, and try to call my mother to see what she thought was wrong -- she is a nurse at U of M Medical Center, and was working that afternoon. She wasn't around, so he went back to the bar to have dinner, and came back an hour later. He's not a moron, really. My mother was home by then, and she immediately sent him to the emergency room, who promptly sent him -- but of course! -- to U of M Medical Center. My mother had to drive him there; he was just a wee bit inebriated, in addition to seeing snakes where there weren't any. I'd like to say I was wracked with concern, but I'd be lying. I mean, he was apparently well enough to go back to the bar, right?
His eye has apparently had some sort of rupture. Apparently, he has some sort of thing up with his eyeball where it's thrown up all sorts of debris in the eyeball goo that is interfering with his sight; it'll eventually settle, and be reabsorbed. My mom described it as sort of like a snowglobe, which, you know, EW. Apparently one of the nurses said to him that it often happens in elderly people, as if that's why it was happening to him, which didn't make him too happy. He's 59, which, you know, isn't what I think of as elderly. I think of elderly as Moleman from the Simpsons. Or my Step-grandpa Jim, may he rest in peace.
They didn't get home too late; just by sheer luck the optomologist had already been called in on another case. I'm such a loving son that, after my mother assured me that he wasn't going to go blind any time soon, I immediately blurted out, "Is it hereditary??" I'm at that age where that becomes an issue. Apparently, it's just part of the natural cycle of aging, which, you know, EW.
She immediately started talking about that Piston's brawl thing. She's known me for 31 years, and she still thinks I ought to care. Parents.
His eye has apparently had some sort of rupture. Apparently, he has some sort of thing up with his eyeball where it's thrown up all sorts of debris in the eyeball goo that is interfering with his sight; it'll eventually settle, and be reabsorbed. My mom described it as sort of like a snowglobe, which, you know, EW. Apparently one of the nurses said to him that it often happens in elderly people, as if that's why it was happening to him, which didn't make him too happy. He's 59, which, you know, isn't what I think of as elderly. I think of elderly as Moleman from the Simpsons. Or my Step-grandpa Jim, may he rest in peace.
They didn't get home too late; just by sheer luck the optomologist had already been called in on another case. I'm such a loving son that, after my mother assured me that he wasn't going to go blind any time soon, I immediately blurted out, "Is it hereditary??" I'm at that age where that becomes an issue. Apparently, it's just part of the natural cycle of aging, which, you know, EW.
She immediately started talking about that Piston's brawl thing. She's known me for 31 years, and she still thinks I ought to care. Parents.
* * * * * * * * * *
I finished reading Terry Pratchett's Hogfather and Night Watch over the weekend -- like I said before, I's obsessed -- and I also started and finished Max Phillips' Fade to Blonde, which I really can't recommend highly enough. It's part of the Hard Case Crime series, with some really spectacularly pulpy covers. They say not to judge a book by its cover, but lets be honest: everyone does. You look on the shelf at Borders or wherever and see another boring looking mass-market paperback with the title of the book in metallic gold raised block letters, your eyes just glaze over and you walk on by. Well, anyways, mine do. Books like this though, with actual paintings gracing their covers -- I love it.
The book itself was just like James M. Cain or Raymond Chandler, but it wasn't just aping them. I don't normally read a lot of crime fiction, because in general I find it sort of dull, but I find these sorts of books terrific. It was almost too outrageous, but then had so much grit and humanity in it that I never found myself rolling my eyes. I'll probably continue reading the series occasionally, when I feel the need to butch myself up a bit, lit-wise.
Song: Brian Eno: "Needle in the Camel's Eye".
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