The short story: Dad is progressing very well and may get out as soon as this coming Wednesday, 21 September. Mom is happy over that news.
The long story: My Dad is a daft pain in the buttocks.
The man had knee surgery this past Tuesday. He was told to stay off it until he was moved into the "therapy care unit". He did.
He was moved Thursday.
He was told he should always request assistance. He was told not to get out of bed until he was issued a walker. Even then, he was to contact a nurse for help. He was told he may sit up in a chair for brief periods at a time.
The man doesn't listen.
I called him yesterday (Friday).
me: Hey, Pop!
dad: Hey, how's the baby?
me: Fine. Baby's doing good. She wasn't so clinging this morning when I dropped her off at school.
dad: That's good. And how about you? How are you making out there in work?
me: Eh. Kinda hectic. T leaving really messed up a lot of getting work done for month and quarter end. And the auditors have been crawling everywhere.
It's at this point I know he's not paying attention 'cause I hear channels flipping in the background.
me: So how's it going there?
dad: Oh pretty good. I got up this morning and walked to the bathroom.
me: Um, Dad? Didn't they say stay off your leg until you got your walker?
dad: Yeah but I had to go and I pushed that stupid red button (nurse call button) and no one came. So I got up, leaned on various things, and did it myself.
Long pause because I have my head in my hand
me: Dad, they tell you these things for a reason. You could have injured yourself.
dad: Ehhh, what the hell do they know?
me: Oh brother. Did the nurses yell at you?
dad: (laughs) Yeah. I played dumb. (laughs again)
His physical therapist is amazed at his recovery speed for his age. My Dad may be old, but he is one tough man.
He once told my brother, who was a goalie for a soccer team, when he got kicked in the face one particular game that he looked okay and to finish the game. Dumb-dumb did. When they came home and my mom saw the bloodied mess that was my brother's lower half of his head, she rushed him to the hosipital. He needed forty stitches, he broke a tooth, and developed an infection. I thought my Mom was going to kill my Dad. My Dad looked at my Mom and was all "He's okay. Don't coddle him." But that was my Dad!
The man was bit by a brown recluse spider in Florida twenty years ago. His leg blew up. He was sick as a dog. He had the worst festering thing on his leg I had ever seen in my life (still to this day). The doctor told him by all rights, he should have lost his leg. But he didn't 'cause my Dad fought it. At least that's what I believe.
So now the tough old guy will be home a week ahead of schedule. Good thing. I don't think the escape plan in the cart would have worked too well.