Thursday, December 2, 2004

I couldn't make this shit up . . .

I swear, if I sat for a month racking my brain to come up with a more convoluted, twisted pile of bullshit, I couldn't come close to the reality.

So . . . I spent the day helping my mom get her things together for her move. We filled out even MORE paperwork for the apartment complex, looked at all of the units that were vacant "just to make sure" that she had picked the one that she liked the best, and then we spent the better part of the afternoon shopping consignment furniture stores for a sofa (she found one, quite nice, recliners on each end, $180).

I rushed home, bundled the kids into the car and on to cheerleading practice, where Hubby met me to watch the kids for the rest of the practice so I could go on to my twice-monthly outing to Music Trivia. I had really been looking forward to getting out, shooting the breeze with friends, eating some wings, and just having a little fun. I was driving down Interstate 75 when the cell rang.

My mother.

She got the call about 7:00 pm from a police officer. My dad was in an accident - he rear-ended a car. No one else was hurt, but his face was busted up pretty good, and he had knocked out a few teeth. Bad cut on his face, and he was fighting with the officers about going to the hospital. They were asking my mom if he was on any medication or if he had any medical problems, because he didn't seem to be coherent. Not knowing any better, I am sure the officer thought he had been drinking. My dad is a tee-totaler, but he tends to load up on sugar, and when you have diabetes, that is just as bad as tipping the bottle and getting behind the wheel. According to some witnesses that pulled over after the accident, his driving was erratic before he crashed, so he could have been going into a "sugar coma", at least that is what we call it when he nods off without warning.

The officer and the doctor both want a family member to come down - they don't want to release him without a family member present. I guess my mom was so upset, the officer asked if he could have a phone number for one of their kids and guess who got picked? You got it. When I got the call, I asked the officer what had to be done to get him admitted for a 72 hour psychiatric observation. He said that under certain conditions, he could order that at his discretion without any signatures from family members. But because my dad seemed to be lucid enough to know where he was, and what had happened, and because he was so adamant about not wanting to be in the hospital, the officer's superior wouldn't authorize it. Instead, they just want us to get our ass down there and pick him up, pronto. The one ace in the hole is the emergency room doctor - he has ordered a boatload of tests, and if the tests show that he is medically fragile, the doctor can hold him for 3-5 days with family consent.

So, I am waiting for his call now, and operating on the assumption that the doctor will call to tell us to come on down. I think that my mom and I will take a one-way flight down, get him, and drive a rental car back to Atlanta. I have no idea how that will go . . . she is mad as hell that he went after she begged him not to. Hell, we all are, for that matter. Part of me wants to go down there and plant my foot up his ass, and the other part of me is scared to death, and thankful that he didn't have the accident on the freeway and kill himself and a whole slew of innocent people.

Yeah, so . . . I will be gone for a bit . . . I plan to make the 6 hour drive back to Atlanta count. I am telling my mom to hold strong, to go through with her move, and I am going to keep pushing for him to quit driving on his own before his license is revoked or he hurts someone.

Wish me luck.

No comments:

There was an error in this gadget