My family ends up in hospital waiting rooms quite often, as Mom has been dealing with health issues for many years. Sort of feels like home after you've been here awhile. The St Cloud hospital is one of the most professional and courteous I have experienced.
So here I am, with Pat, Barb, Julie and Mom, in one of the waiting areas in the hospital, doing some writing while Dad takes a nap. He just got a bath, clean bedding and a back rub from the nurses, so I'm thinking he'll be sleepin' like a baby for a while. He has a low grade fever today and will likely get a pacemaker implant tomorrow, provided the fever dissipates.
Usually Dad is on the waiting room end of these hospital visits, and I was remembering the time when Mom became extremely ill while they were on vacation a few summers ago. They'd gone to a family reunion in Sioux Falls, and Mom was in such bad shape that Dad called us to come down there. So 'the girls' (Pat, me, Barb and Julie) all crammed into Julie's little car, and headed out into the night. It seems that even if you have time to pack a bag, there are always a few things you forgot to bring, or ran out of while you're away. This is why a lot of our pajamas are from Walmart.
Anyway, because Dad packs for vacation like most men, with just the most minimal amount of clothes, by the time we got to the hospital in Sioux Falls, and it became obvious that Mom would be there for a while - he needed to get out to make some extra clothing purchases.
A small warning bell dinged off somewhere in the back of my brain, but I ignored it. Which is probably why - when we reached the mall, Barb and Julie made a hasty beeline off to the other end of the mall, (to look at shoes, naturally) leaving me to help Dad find the stuff he needed. Dad's not a big shopper, I guess Mom probably buys most of his clothes, and a feeling of dread and slight panic swept over me when Dad said, "Well, I guess I need some shirts. I like those T-shirt shirts, you know, with a pocket on the front. And stripes, this way." While motioning his arms to indicate horizontal stripes.
Wonder of wonders - and thank you Jesus - there happened to be a big table of such shirts at Kohl's. We picked out a few and Dad tried one on. In the store. Right next to the table. Then posed, pooching out his belly, and asked, "Does this look too small for me?" We had more stuff to get and needed to get back to the hospital in due time. I said they looked great.
Onward to socks. You'd think this would be an easy one, but he had a particular kind in mind, and more complexly - a certain calf height. Not too high and not too low. Those seem to have too tight elastic. Those have a grey toe and heel. Etcetera. Finally found some that fit the bill.
I was hoping he had brought enough underwear, because I really just didn't want to go there. Alas, to the underwear aisles we trod. This was the worst, because while I don't mind a quick grab and buy, I did not want to browse the men's undie aisle. With my dad. We looked at a lot of different styles, and although he seemed sure of what exact type he wanted (and I really had no inclination to learn what type of unterwasche he wore) we couldn't find the right ones. He finally found a package of underwear that *seemed* close to the right kind, judging from the photo on the front. But he was hesitant to choose them because they were labeled 'fitted knit boxers' and he knew his were called 'boxer-briefs.'
Our shopping was finally completed. It has always stuck in my mind though - how we were able to find all those items exactly like he what wanted. Maybe guardian angels cover more ground than we think. ;)
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