When we last left our Brooklyn broken-hipped hero, he was sitting in a wheelchair in the backyard waiting out a six week term off his antibiotics. It was a very long six weeks for my dad as he sort of just…wheeled around, down the ramp in our garage to go sit in the backyard and then back up it again to go sit inside…to do more…sitting. Yeah. Fun. Occasionally he watched a few British crime mini-series on DVD. MY IDEA OF A GOOD TIME, I’LL SAY! (GOOD DAY, GUVNA!)

Oh wait. There was also that one time my mom left him alone to run to the bank and he was in his wheelchair in the backyard and a wheel got caught in the place where the stone walkway met the grass and the wheelchair toppled over and my dad fell down with it and remained there, a perfect candidate for one of those infomercial HELP I’VE FALLEN AND I CAN’T GET UP ads.

My dad crawled on his hands toward the telephone, which luckily was within reach, and dialed 911.

“Sir, do you need an ambulance?” asked the 911 operator.

“NO,” said my dad politely, laying in the grass. “I JUST NEED A REALLY BIG COP TO COME PICK ME BACK UP.”

“Um, how big are you, sir?”

“OH, I’M ABOUT 6’2, 220 POUNDS. WELL, I WAS 230 BUT I LOST SOME WEIGHT. BUT PROBABLY NOT MORE THEN 10 POUNDS. YEAH. I’M 220. SO IF YOU COULD JUST SEND A BIG COP.”

“Will do, sir.”

In about fifteen minutes, a huge ass cop showed up to my backyard, picked my dad up and put him back in the wheelchair.

Then my mom arrived back from the bank and was all “How are you doing?” and my dad was all “WIFFEY! WHILE YOU WERE OUT, I FELL DOWN AND A COP PICKED ME UP SO EVERYTHING IS FINE. HOW WAS THE BANK?”

Scene.

(PS, have we talked about the fact that my parents call each other Hubby and Wiffey? Not wifey, wiffey, double F, short i sound. I don’t know why this is. Don’t even ask me. But my parents have called each other “Paul” and “Rita” maybe five times in my whole life and usually when talking to other people. It is the weirdest thing. And normally, people that use the words Hubby and Wiffey would make me barf but for some reason, my parents make it okay. ISN’T THAT ALWAYS THE CASE? Damn them and their cuteness.)

So Hubby and Wiffey went to the Hospital for Special Surgeries yesterday and today to meet with the hip surgeon and the NYC infectious disease doctor separately. It would’ve made sense to see them on one day but alas, the infectious disease dude had a daughter who was having a baby so dad had to make a separate trip. Whatever, infectious disease dude.

The hip surgeon stuck a huge needle in my dad’s hip to find out if the staph infection is still hanging out in there, being an asshole. We won’t find out the results for another week but the blood work seems to imply that the infection is gone. Apparently, you never can tell. Whatever. The surgeon said that the calendar is booked through September but if the results come back clear, it’s possible he’ll try to squeeze dad in and dad was like SEPTEMBER? A NEW HIP IN SEPTEMBER? LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED.

Until he met with the infectious disease doctor today.

And the infectious disease doctor spent TWO HOURS with Hubby and Wiffey and my brother Paul, detailing every aspect of my dad’s case and finally after going over the whole hip thing, he was all, “Why has no one talked to you about the bigger problem here?”

And they were all WHA?

And the doctor was all “Um. Your bladder/prostate/urinary issues, to me, are the bigger problem. And I cannot okay surgery until we find out more and fix it.”

And everyone was all OF COURSE THIS IS HAPPENING BECAUSE WE ALMOST HAD AN END IN SIGHT BUT NOW WE DON’T!

The long and short of it is:

My father has some issues with his prostate. He had cancer a few years ago, if y’all remember correctly. And the prostate itself is enlarged, has been for a long time, before the cancer, to the point where he was getting up to pee approximately five times a night and when I heard my mom say this, I was like DIDN’T HE THINK SOMETHING WAS UP? LIKE, THAT’S NOT NORMAL?

And then I realized that was a stupid question because my dad can successfully ignore any problem. See also: that one time he broke his kneecap and didn’t find out about it until someone took an x-ray of his knee twenty years later.

You might recall also, if you’ve been reading this blog since the beginning of My Dad Fell Down and Went Boom, that he had numerous issues with his bladder post-surgery. For one thing, they tried removing the catheter THREE separate times and failed and my dad had to have it in for almost forty days. For another, he had a raging urinary tract infection in the hospital that nearly killed him dead. And there was that time we all went to the emergency room on Memorial Day around 4 am because his catheter backed up and the urine wouldn’t come out and YOU GET THE POINT, RIGHT?

The infectious disease doctor seems to believe (obviously) that there are some major issues going on with my dad’s whole urinary thing. And he wants it dealt with before he approves surgery. This means more time in the wheelchair which is freaking devastating at this point BUT! as my dad pointed out today, he of chipper relentless optimism, it also means that someone, finally finally, is LISTENING to him. A doctor is taking him seriously. They are looking at all aspects. They want him healthy.

This is a complete 180 from that Other Hospital. The hospital of WOOPS YOU HAVE STAPH? and WOOPS YOUR KNEE HURTS? and WOOPS YOU ALMOST DIED FROM A UTI WE DIDN’T NOTICE?

Yeah. That hospital.

Dad has an appointment in the city next week with a fancy urologist. And they’re gonna see what’s up. And formulate a plan. To fix my dad from the inside out.

For now, he’s chowing down on some healthy food because the blood work seemed to indicate that he’s anemic and somewhat malnourished.

So, he’s gonna have to start eating. And then they’re gonna have to fix his bladder/prostate/whatever. And THEN they will fix the hip.

And then maybe he can walk again.

And then maybe I can write a blog post about my dad that doesn’t involve the words ‘hospital’ or ‘hip’.

As always, we so appreciate the good thoughts you guys are sending. It’s a long road but he’s with people who are really taking care of him now and he’s so so so happy.

It’s going to take longer than we thought, of course. But rest assured that all the characters of this story, Hubby and Wiffey, their children and dedicated blogger, are all going to be just fine.