Anxiety Dream: Dad and Samantha are walking somewhere when he is hit by a car and killed. He keeps reincarnating in the form of various discombobulated people. Even though they bear no physical resemblance to him – some of them are women and some are various races – somehow I know that they are him and feel compelled to take care of them.
Dad has been having trouble with pain in his right arm since Friday. It's an on-and-off kind of pain that he describes as “Wham! And then nothing,” but it is so severe when it occurs that he screams in pain. Jaelynn went running into his room in panic several times tuesday night, and Kate S. was similarly freaked out when he screamed while getting up from the couch on wednesday. Since it wasn't getting better, she and I decided to take him to the ER for an x-ray yesterday, knowing that old bones are fragile. Dad complained all the way down the stairs, but when we got to the hospital he was pretty good, though in the waiting room he speculated that they were going to give him a dose of poison and kill him. It took a long time, but eventually the results came back – nothing broken – so we bundled Dad up in JaeLynn's coat over his own and brought him home.
Today Dad says, “I feel sort of snorty and bitchy. I don't feel good.” I wonder if he's catching a cold. Even though he's not feeling well, Dad's all hands tonight – I have to catch his hands and hold them to keep him from trying to feel my legs and breasts. Finally, my explanation about how daughters don't do that sinks in, and he backs off. “What should we do now?” he asks, apparently unable to think of anything else two people could possibly do. “Listen to music?” I suggest. He agrees and is shortly happily tapping away to his steel drums cd.
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