The doctors all say Dad got off real lucky, if "lucky" is a word you can correctly use in a sentence which also includes the words "had" "a" and "stroke". By all events it seemed to have been a minor stroke, and fortunately occurred in an area of the brain responsible for personality- thus not a part of the brain Dad typically requires on a day-to-day basis. He is very weak, but it seems so far that he has suffered no physical disability. Mentally he seems to be more or less present as well, but it's hard to tell for sure as they've got him pretty much doped to the gills. His speech is clear, although his voice is weak, and he has at best a tenuous acquaintance with lucidity. He picks agitatedly at his I.V. tubes. He seems to be under the impression that he is on a cruise ship. I guess this is probably better than him thinking that he's in a hospital, all things considered. Because cruise ships are fun.

He is beginning to suspect that the nurses are drugging him. I'm not quite sure what tipped him off- was it the I.V. in his arm? The pills they keep giving him? He looks around and narrows his eyes suspiciously:

"I've only had three or four glasses of beer since I got here today... I'm not the kind of guy who staggers around like this after only two or three glasses of beer...."

When the time comes I have to leave, he looks kind of puzzled. Where am I going? Whatever happened to mother? Is someone going to come to pick him up later? I try to make sure he has his cell phone and ice-water handy.

On the hospital bed he looks so small, so weak, he looks so all alone.

And it breaks my heart.