My father came home last Tuesday out of the blue. I was at work and the attending nurse called me and said "Guess what? Your father is coming home, aren't you excited?" I was not too thrilled because she basically implied that she expected me to come get him right away--even though I was at work. So I feel the pure pressure in my office from some of my co-workers and ask my boss to leave early. I arrive at the Loma Linda V.A. Hospital and they are like, Woops, sorry, we said we would have him discharged right away, but we will do our best to make sure we get him out ASAP. So instead of telling me over the phone that it would take roughly 5 hours to discharge him, they call me in a tone of immediacy. Makes you wonder if they even care. So I ended up leaving work at 2pm, and didn't get out of the hospital until 7:30pm`ish.

So now that my father is at home, he's basically had to learn how to feed himself through this tube which is hooked upto his stomach which you can see the tube right beneath where his rib cage meets. His voice is not slurred, he does not fall down when walking--aided by a cane. He is basically totally normal except for the fact that his oesophagus is paralysed. Makes you wonder if there were such a thing as a god, if such a person existed what a sick joke he played on my dad. Being able to feed yourself, being able to feel and taste the food in which you eat is one of the few pleasures people on this earth experience on a daily basis. To take this pleasure away is paramount to spiting a persons existence. Nonetheless my father seems to be dealing with it in a somewhat appropriate way. He is still trying to eat candies and stuff which he can suck on, but realises that it will cause him to cough profusely and be generally miserable. I don't know how he does it. He's had 1 heart attack, 3 bouts with cancer, and now a stroke, what next? Oh, I know, he will get struck by lightening. Then maybe we can say he was truly just unlucky.