Instead of Oprah, my mother woke me up this morning saying:
"Well now I have to go to the hospital with dad, have you got the number
for some cab-company, you take cabs from time to time, right?"
Come again? Hospital? Dad?
God.. what time is it? (9:03)
I simply said "yes", trying to let it all sink in.
The fact is that my parents called me on my mobile yesternight, but when I
noticed I figured it was too late to call back.
"What's wrong with dad?" Worried, really worried. In my mind he'd had a stroke.
"Haven't got time to get into it, we need to go."
So I tried to come up with the number to a cab company.
Now, who in their sane mind remembers numbers to cab companies one minute after they've woken up to the news that something's wrong with their father?
But I really tried to remember since it was a matter of life and death..
Taxi Stockholm... something with 30,.. 30 30 00? 30 30 30? I said: "30 00
00." (Probably wrong.)
"Ok, I'll call you later when I'm at the hospital."
And then she hung up.
On my way to work I tried to remember if the last conversation I had with
my dad was a good one, and it was.
Then I thought that if something really, really bad had happened they would
have taken the ambulance wouldn't they? (At this point I had started
thinking constructively about it.) And my mom has a tendency to be a bit
dramatic when it comes to people being ill.
So to use a Swedish expression: I decided to have ice in my belly. ( = chill) At least until I knew more.
By lunch-time mother called me and explained that dad had a quite serious
infection in his leg, but they were on their way home now, he'll be fine.
Later a guy at work turned 60 and we celebrated with lots and lots of vodka.
No, we had cake.
Things are ok.
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