A post in which I try to talk about chatty, innocuous things, but really just wind up writing up about the thing that has my stomach in knots

Hey, let me ask you a question. Whose idea was it to start a strategic planning process at work five weeks before our huge annual conference? When all the crazy little detaily things start to crumble apart and suddenly I realize that I am simultaneously losing sleep over what strategic partnerships we should be forging over the next five years and how many drink tickets we will give the live band during the cocktail reception? What the eff? Seriously.

Oh snap. That was my idea.

Well, fine. Then can I blame something on someone else?

Actually, I can. I can blame the Mayo clinic in Jacksonville for botching the job not once, but twice. See, my Dad went there on Thursday to have surgery on a brain aneurysm. It was kind of a big deal. Four of my sibs were there, along with my mom. I called them and waited and worried from Madison, and made myself ready for a potentially lengthier stay in Florida if the surgery didn’t do what they hoped and a second, more invasive, technique was necessary. (See Dad, I am actually the more thoughtful of my siblings- you love me best, right?)

On Thursday morning I got a text message: Mom and Dad at the hospital. Dad’s checked in. We’re in the waiting room.

Followed shortly after by another text.

Machine broken in the operating room. Dad o.k. No surgery today. Rescheduled for tomorrow.

Sigh… Another night filled with worry.

Friday morning, the six of them hauled their cookies back to the hospital. My cell phone chimed with the text message: Mom and dad back at hospital. Dad checked in. We’re in waiting room.

Followed soon by: Um, machine still broken. No timeline for fix. Dad and mom are done. We’re out of here.

Argh! Hello, Mayo Clinic? This is freaking brain surgery, which generally speaking, is not done a whim. Could we show a little hustle in the mechanical repair department? Because you know what? My parents live six hours away from you. And my sibs who were chilling in your waiting room? They came from other parts of the country to give my Dad (the surgeryee) some support post surgery, not because they can’t get enough outdated Field and Stream and muted Regis and Kelly.

They all have return tickets and life was supposed to have returned to normal by now. My dad would have a cool story about how they fixed his brain by using a wire inserted near his groin, we all would have made several jokes about how fitting it is that they can do brain surgery on guys like him by starting there, and all would be well.

Except we’re all still wondering… what now?