So dad had his stent put in last Thursday. Exactly one whole week ago. The day after he got out of the hospital, his younger brother went in. I dunno what they were doing up there (it's FL Hospital Altamonte), but they spent nearly a whole week deciding it was the heart...no it wasn't the heart, it was the gall bladder...no, maybe it was stomach inflammation...on and on, yada yada. Well, we stopped running out there every day, since it was always more of the same. Sitting around with the psycho girlfriend, learning absolutely nothing.
Well, they finally decided that they didn't like the sound of one of the ECGs, so they scheduled a diagnostic cardiac cath for this morning. We got a panicked call from the girlfriend: they're transporting him by ambulance to FL Hospital South, where he's going to have emergency heart surgery.
Considering we're in Davenport, and the transport was only from Altamonte to Downtown, we correctly deduced that if we went up, we wouldn' get there before the procedure started. FL Hospital South happens to be where Dad had the stent placed last week, so he called the cath lab directly.
No, it wasn't emergency surgery. Steve had a 95% blockage and they were placing a stent. Sound familiar? I *think* Steve's was in the left main, which is slightly riskier than where Dad's was, but I got that third hand from the panicking girlfriend, so I dunno...this is the same woman who argued adamantly that Steve has gallstones...IN HIS STOMACH. Unless he's half bird, that would be a neat trick.
Dad manages to get a message to the doctor to go with a bare metal stent like he has. Steve is going to need gallbladder surgery sooner or later, as well as other procedures, so it's best to do the bare metal stent so he can come off Plavix in a month or so. Score one for Dad, he was successful.
Anyway, a 95% blockage with a stent...yep, just what Dad had. We come down from panic mode and decide not to head up there yet, since the procedure would be over by the time we got there. Then the girlfriend informs us that Monica is flying down. Now, Monica is my cousin, Steve's daughter, the one that we're bringing down for a week at the beginning of May. Since she has no money to fly down, and Steve and Joyce certainly don't, that's a neat trick.
I call Monica and explain that Steve's fine, it's the same procedure Dad just had, he'll be released in the morning, yada yada. And this girl's mother has been an RN in a cardiac cath lab for nearly 20 years. I convince her that a last minute flight would be prohibitively expensive, she can't afford the time off work, and there's absolutely no need to come.
Well, a series of further phone calls transpire. The girlfriend informs us the procedure was a success, he's fine...but he also had an 85% blockage in another artery which "they couldn't get to so they just left it alone." We later confirmed with the nurse that no, they had placed stents in both arteries. Meanwhile, she has convinced Monica to borrow money from her brother in law to fly down. Joyce will be picking her up at the Tampa Airport, and Monica will be staying with Joyce's friends in Altamonte Springs.
We get hold of Monica. Turns out Joyce has been calling her nonstop, crying and guilt tripping her, telling her that Steve's likely to die, and if he doesn't he'll have a long and painful recovery, and he'll be in the hospital for at least two weeks and blah blah blah. So Monica is indeed doing what Joyce says.
OK...here's the part that really pisses me off. DAD JUST HAD THE SAME THING. I was by myself. Nobody came to sit with us. Monica didn't fly down. Steve didn't show up. Joyce didn't show up. And guess what? DAD'S FINE NOW!! He did three theme parks in a single day on Monday for cripes sake! And apparently Joyce thinks Dad's doing well enough to pull him into her circle of drama. Why is Steve so damned special? What makes his stents an emergency worthy of rallying the troops, when Dad's wasn't even worthy of notice????
I hate my family. Except my dad. I still love him. Everybody else can kiss my ass.