What's Wrong With My Genes?

Friday night I took a red-eye to Chicago.  It was too cramped and too cold to sleep much, but I made the effort.  I get to the hotel around 6am and my awesome mom makes me awesome egg on toast.  Finally, I get to nap for a few hours.

Around 1ish we got to the Saloon Steakhouse, which is right next to the hotel, for lunch.  It is incredible.  For $13 I get filet mignon covered in blue cheese with mashed potatos and green beans.  It is bliss on a plate.  Knowing the hospital is the next stop, I also pair it with their house Cabernet Sauvignon, which was pretty good.  It is the lunch of kings.  Or at least Brandies.

Sometimes I feel like just a number.

Ok, fun part done, time to get my butt to the hospital.  Dad's up on the 15th floor, and in serious get-no-freaking-germs-in-here condition.  There are 2 sets of automatic doors, with a sink in the middle.  Enter one set of doors, wash your hands, exit the second set of doors.  Only one set can be open at a time.  I felt like I was living in "Andromeda Strain" and almost expected infected crazy monkeys to run by.

See any crazy monkeys?

After the doors, we went to the end of the hall, where we got disinfectant goo to rub on our hands before entering my dad's room.

I was a bit shocked, ok more than a bit, to see him laying on the bed.  He was weak, half conscious with his head shaved.  Lots of the usual tubes and wires of any serious medial stay.

Mom and I wear face masks for the first part of the visit, though they aren't really needed later.  Despite her saying we could draw happy faces on them, seems no one remember to bring a Sharpie.  Maybe next time.

I just sat for a while.  Stunned with the situation and still pretty tired from my trip.  I felt a little lightheaded.  Somehow, the whether or not I'm going to have kids came up.

Let me preface- I have no intention of having kids now, near now, or possibly at all.  Craig doesn't really want kids and I can't imagine trying to be responsible for a small person right now.  So, we may not have kids, and if we do, it will be quite a ways away.  If (and it's a big IF) we have kids, we have discussed adoption.  Craig and I both feel that there are enough unwanted children in the world, that if we ever have a home for kids, we might as well give it to them.  Or as Craig puts it, "Puppies, kittens and children- if we get them, we're getting them from the pound."  Ok, the sentiment if there, even if Craig lacks subtlety or tack.

So, somehow the topic of me having kids came up at the hospital, and I casually mentioned that I wasn't sure if I was having kids, and if I was, they would probably be adopted.  My dad's eyes got really big and he very seriously demanded, "What's wrong with my genes?  Why don't you want to have your own kids?"

I couldn't believe we were even arguing this.  This, coming from the man who kept telling me not to rush things and make sure I did my own thing free from the responsibility of others.  I'm trying to get through grad school and my dad is freaking out because someday I might adopt- MAYBE?  My dad, who is trying to get me to shop for a husband and gets 'nervous' when I even tell him the date of our wedding (2 years mind you), and now he's getting upset that we might not have biological children?  Seriously?!

I try to remain calm, and see the absurdity of the situation.  Remember, he's on a lot of drugs.  I try to calmly explain that there are no plans for kids in the near future (or even the not-so-near future), but if we decide to have kids, I will let him know.

He still really wanted to argue the point, even compromise with 'you know, you could have one of each.'  And I tried to politely tell him, that really, he had no say in how I decide to reproduce (or not).  I can't believe I'm even having this conversation.  I can't believe he is seriously concerned about this.  I can't believe he's trying to tell me how to have kids.  And I really can't believe that he's asking what's wrong with our family's genes as we sit in the isolation floor of the hospital because he's going through chemo for auto-immune problems, which run in the family.  It's pretty much too ridiculous to get upset about.

I also didn't mention to him that I have a hard work ethic and Craig had a penchant for mischief.  If we have a kid- he/she might inherit both of those traits.  And a mischief maker who works hard at it... well, evil world domination is clearly the next step.

My First

I am a 24 year old grad student working on my MBA part-time at UCLA while working full-time at the front office of a TV production company.  I have aspirations of completing my masters and taking over the world.  Or at least starting my own company.  Between work and school, there has not been much down time.  Yet, finals are over and I have a week off of work.  Seems like a good time to start a blog.

This week off finds me visiting Chicago, which would be all fun and awesomeness if it wasn't for the fact that the main reason I'm out here is to see my dad going through the worst part of the chemo related to his stem cell transplant.  See, my dad has been sick for the better part of the last decade.  It's hard to describe exactly what he has, because it is so complicated and so rare.  Basically, he has auto-immune problems.  After years of different treatments, he's finally going through with a stem cell transplant.  People I've told about this say 'how cool' it is to have this cutting-edge procedure.  Cool?  Well, I hope desperately that it works.  Of course, cool is not the first thing that comes to mind as a I sit in a hospital room with a father who is half conscious and pumped up on painkillers.  Cool is not having to wash my hands (twice!) every time I come to the 15th floor of the hospital to my dad's room, because he has about two white blood cells in his whole body.  Cool is not watching my dad dry heave.  When I first got to his room, I felt afraid to even breath.  

Dad and I - pre stem cell transplant

So here I sit at the hospital half freaked out with what is going on and half wondering was tasty restaurant will be a good choice for dinner.  Dad is on enough drugs that he's telling us about the dead people he saw (maybe in a dream?).  His grandfather, his best friend, our old greyhound, and the kitten I had who got sick and died.  They're all hanging out with him on the beach.  Just chilling.  Seems like everyone is having a good time.

Fortunately, every restaurant here in Chicago seems to be tasty, so that takes care of dinner.  Too bad the hospital part isn't so easy to fix.  And that's the crux of living with someone seriously and chronically ill.  How does one live their life, and enjoy it, while someone they love is so sick?  I refuse to not enjoy myself for the days/months/years he is sick, but it's difficult to find the balance.  Whether it's leaving the hospital for dinner or just getting up everyday to go to work knowing he went to the ER last night.  It's something I've wrestled with for years.