Welcome back, Kotter

Well, thanks everyone for your prayers, thoughts and emails. Dad came home today and is doing really well, swears he is off the ciggies now (he'd better be - I'd hate to see him try and smoke after I've chopped both his hands off!!) and has a bunch of follow up referrals to chase up, but should be 100% very soon.

Thank God I don't have to schlep all the way down to the hospital anymore, if I see one more pregnant teenager smoking on the sidewalk, I might think I've moved to Inala.

Actually, through thorough and exhaustive socio-economic studies, I have compiled a detailed list to help people identify whether or not they may be... a bogan. (For international readers, a bogan is the Australian equivalent of a redneck, a yobbo, a chav, white-trash etc., etc.)

Are you ready? It's quite comprehensive, so go grab a cuppa or something. Ready? Okay.

You are a bogan if...

... you live in Tweed Heads.

The End.

Quick update

Thanks everyone for your bloggy-love and to all those who emailed to ask how my Dad is doing. Who'd have thought my cold, impersonal laptop would give me such warm fuzzies!

Well, Dad had his operation today, and all went well. This afternoon they have been weaning him off his sedation, so he is slowly coming around. He is very groggy, and not able to communicate yet, which he is obviously finding, umm... frustrating, to say the least. I can only imagine.

Thanks everyone for your prayers, wishes, thoughts and positive vibes. We still have a long way to go, and no doubt my blog postings will be fewer (more like every few days) for the time being whilst I juggle work, hospital visits, running the house and covering every bloody spare bit of space in my house with laundry because THE BLOODY RAIN WON'T GO AWAY!!!! but rest assured, I won't give up my addiction that easy.

Oh, and speaking of addictions, those cigarettes are now in the bin.

I'll C U

My Dad's in hospital tonight. Heavily sedated in the ICU, being looked after by some awesome nurses.

He would hate all the fuss, he hates the idea of going to hospital (he's worried he might get sick). I don't really know how much info to put up, he's a pretty private guy. The upshot is he's pretty sick, he has been ill for months now, but at least now he's in the best place possible to get better. We're assured he will be okay, but he has a hard road in front of him, and is likely to be in hospital for a month or so. Hopefully this will encourage him to make some healthier lifestyle decisions (like give up the 2 pack a day smoking habit) when he gets home.

I am feeling really strange about this (yes, I know it's not all about me, but this is my blog right here). Of course I am worried for my Dad, and also worried for my Mum, who's worried for my Dad. And my sister. And.. well, you know, everyone. But I am also a bit angry at him, Dad never really gives his health priority, which I know is very much A Man Thing, but still. Then of course I feel guilty for being angry at him.

Before he was admitted, we were told he was finally convinced by his Doctor to go to hospital to get some tests. I though, "Good, about bloody time!" and was quite umm, blasé, I guess, about the whole thing. So he was meant to go Wednesday morning. Wednesday night I went to see him (he was still in the ER treatment room, waiting on a bed) after work, and was pretty stunned to see how sick he was. It's not like he'd been bouncing around like the Energiser Bunny at home, he'd been quite ill actually, but he looked miserable. And sicker. Shouldn't he look better? Maybe everyone looks sicker in hospital??

Then by the time I went to see him Thursday afternoon, he was in the ICU, unconscious, tubes and wires and what-not everywhere. I was okay at the hospital, and having a quick take-away dinner with Mum afterwards, I was more trying to figure out how okay she was, then on the car trip home... I certainly didn't feel blasé. I felt, shaky, anxious, guilty for being so la-de-dah before. Being the awesome decision maker that I am, I pulled into a servo in the middle of my teary moment and bought a pack of cigarettes (GG was at my Aunt's). Yes, that's me - my Dad is in hospital mainly because of the effects of smoking, I have given up (other than alcohol-related incidents) for a few years now, and what do I do, WHAT DO I GO AND BLOODY DO?!?!?!? Anypuff, I got home, had one, felt sick and threw the pack in the top junk cupboard. Then I berated my queasy self for being so stupid (so Mum, really, you don't need to bother).

And they'd shaved his beard. My Dad has always had a big, black beard (yes, he's a biker, no, he's not a pirate) and it was weird how different he looked without it. I can see his resemblance to his Mum now. It also made him look sort of vunerable. Mum tells me he once shaved it when I was a toddler and when I saw him I screamed, I didn't recognise him... it's kinda the same now. I don't recognise this vunerable, sick man, he doesn't look like my big, burly, Dad.

I'm going to write some more about my Dad, they kind of guy he is, and the lessons he taught me as a Dad, but I need a bit of time to get my head together. He is having an operation on Tuesday, and it would be pretty nice if you could send some positive vibes out for him. Thanks.