bzarcher | (no subject)

So, to help correct his sleep apnea, my dad had his Uvula, tonsils, and a portion of his soft palette removed today.

According to mom at 2pm, he was doing fine, though she hadn't gotten to speak with the surgeon yet to find out if speech therapy will be required (all depends on how much of the palette was damaged and had to be removed), but that he'd be kept overnight for observation.

By a nice coincidence, she parked in the garage that Lisa tends for the medical centre, so even though I haven't gotten more updates on his condition, I know that Mom went home to go get some sleep at 9:55 tonight, so I know that means he must be doing OK and sleeping comfortably, or she'd not have left.

I'm kinda curious what he's going to be like when he's back from the hospital - and not just in the sense of "Hey, I wonder if getting enough oxygen at night will make him less irritable all the time". One of the potential outcomes is that his voice may end up permanently altered. Dad described it on Monday as, "Slightly less irritating than Fran Drescher - at best." Admittedly, that'd only be if they have to remove more than 50% of the pallete, but I'm still a little worried for him. I think that's why, when we needed to put an extra table together for christmas dinner, he and I ate together there. We're not exactly good at this Father/Son thing, but we do have a few tricks.

I know a few people (

dasubergeek, for one, and some people I did choirs with) who have had to deal with the voice they had always known being changed into something different - but they at least had the "advantage" of it happening at a relatively early point in their lives.

Dad is closer to 60 than 50, and doesn't have much in the way of friends that he can lean on outside of a few shooting buddies and some people at church - most of whom are in the choir. I worry that if he has to deal with this, he won't be comfortable reaching out to them because of the pain that losing the ability to sing (also distinctly possible) is likely to have on him.

I didn't even know how much this was bothering me, how much I was worrying, until I sat down to write that he was apparently doing OK.

But I guess I don't entirely know that, yet.

Not until I hear my father's voice again.