That's what Dad has picked up during his stay at Norwalk Hospital. I found out last night when I went to see him.

I hate these people. I want to carpet bomb the whole goddamn facility. I want to ship these bastards off to Gitmo. After I torture them.

The array of tests he was in the hospital for show that there is a 70 percent blockage of his left carotid artery and he was supposed to go back to Yale for a consultation today and surgery next week. Only now he can't because he's stuck in Norwalk for another week and then two to four weeks of recovery either in a nursing home (he's 68 on March 12) or at home because he'll need antibiotics delivered via IV for that long. This staph infection is in his left arm and has entered his blood stream. They're relatively certain it hasn't entered his heart.

Eight years ago on the 27th of this month I lost my Mother. It was a blessing for her, when she died. She suffered so long. I'm not ready for this, the reality of he might not survive all that's going on in his body.

I'm just not ready for this but I don't have any choice. I just have to suck it up and deal.

She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

He's no Saint, but his name is David and it's Saint David's day.