This post is part of my From the Archives series leading up to my third blog-iversary next week... I'll be back "live" tomorrow with more Midweek Confessions, of course. :)
The Poppy That Cried Wolf (originally posted July 7, 2009)
If you know me at all, you know that I am absolutely crazy about my 91 year old grandfather, Poppy. And, if you know him at all, you know that he is a little bit cranky and can't wait to die. I realize that this sounds terrible, but it is really true.
Exhibit A: In elementary school, Poppy promised me a trip to Disney World when I turned thirteen if he was "still alive." Well, folks... He is STILL kicking to this day & I've STILL never been to the most magical place on earth. :)
Exhibit B: One of Poppy's favorite Sunday afternoon activities is to have someone drive him out to his burial plot so that he can daydream about going there. This is not a lie.
All joking aside, I've kind-of grown up talking about when Poppy dies. At least once every visit, he makes some comment about his latest ailment that is - this time - sure to kill him. So... it was no surprise that on Thursday when he started complaining of chest pains, we didn't take it too seriously.
Last Thursday morning, I took Granny to a doctor's appointment with her oncologist. (Side Note: Poppy is as healthy as an ox; Granny really is a sick and wouldn't complain if her life depended on it.) Right in the middle of discussing the doctor's information, Poppy starts grabbing his chest and complaining of heartburn. At this point, Granny said "Oh, give me a break Kent" and left the room.
A few minutes passed, and Poppy sat in his recliner moaning a little while Granny worked the crossword puzzle and asked Poppy for help spelling the word "cherub." Ironic, considering his hope for an early encounter with one of these heavenly creatures.
Long story short, while we sat there going on with our business, Poppy actually had a heart attack. Who would've guessed it?! Eventually we decided to take him to the ER, where he made all sorts of demands about a CD that would mature on Monday, something that needed to be mailed if he died, and that under absolutely NO circumstances would he have any form of surgery or life support. Later, however, when the doctor said "Mr. Martin, we are going to have to operate to place a stint in your heart, is that ok?" Poppy's IMMEDIATE response was, "Of course, whatever it takes." Hmmm...
Poppy spent three nights in the hospital where he flirted with all the nurses, peed in a jug (that he brought home to water the plants with, I might add), and soaked up everyone's comments about how good he looks for his age. It has been a whirlwind last few days, but today, Poppy is home and healthy. That is one strong old man!
Love you Pop!