Last week, my father went into the hospital because he was experiencing severe shortness of breath and as it turned out, he was diagnosed with atrial fibrillation. Atrial fibrillation is when certain valves of the heart beat out of rhythm with the others which can sometimes cause shortness of breath or angina--a restriction in blood flow causing constriction in the airway.
He was in the hospital for about two to three days, taking heparin through an iv and having lots of tests, and on the third day, they decided to perform an electrical cardioversion; this is where they shock the heart in anticipation of reverting the unrhythmic valves back to their normal rhythm. The procedure was successful.
Just a few days later, he was released with a prescription for coumadin and an order to stay home (from work) until July 6th.
I'm very thankful to all my friends and family for their prayers.
Yesterday, while at work, one of our managers asked me if I could pick up a host shift because one of our hostesses had unexpectedly jumped ship.
"What are you going to give me?"
"A plate of food."
(With his sly smile, I knew he was referring to "family meal.")
"I think you should buy me lunch... today!"
I decided to take my comp meal "to go" and brought it home for David and I to share over a bottle of Veuve.
Originally, I was going to order our (somewhat new) four cheese pizza with shaved red onion and garlic, and the roasted beet salad, but remembering that David doesn't care for beets, I instead went with our black truffle pizza and fennel salad. I thought the two dishes, along with a bottle of Veuve, would make for a very complimentary meal.
And I was right. It all went together very nicely and David was a fan of the black truffle pizza which he said "made sense." At first, he wasn't sure if he wanted us to open our bottle of Veuve, which we'd been saving since April, but I could tell that he had had a stressful evening of office work and said to him: You need it!
Needless to say, it didn't require any arm twisting...
We spent the rest of our dinner discussing Capote--I had purchased Music for Chameleons, that afternoon. In addition to reading "La Côte Basque" fifty times (I took a break after the fourth--I was afraid I was absorbing Lady Coolbirth's mannerisms and dialogue), I've decided I'm going to read all Capote's books. (Except, perhaps, for In Cold Blood.)
And we both agreed "La Côte Basque" is perfectly flawless.