Papa Bill came to the Hills much to the delight of the children and adults alike. And then, then, he got sick. REAL sick. Folks talked in hushed tones about his swollen ankles and off coloring. Jac and I played cards with Max and the Colorado cousins while glancing nervously at Papa while he watched and coughed from the sidelines. We gave each other meaningful glances, nods and raised eye brows. My grandfather, the machine that he is, was gray and fatigued and it made ALL of us nervous. Really, really nervous.
It was actually a slight relief to hear on our anniversary that he was admitted to the hospital with pneumonia.
Then we started to worry again.
It was for naught, of course. I hurried up to Spearfish the next morning to find Papa pink and in good spirits. Good spirits, that is, except for his diagnosis.
“The doctor said I would be here until Friday, maybe Saturday and I told him that was unacceptable. I’ve got great-grandchildren that I came all this way to take to them to the Journey Museum and the Air Museum and it’s just unacceptable for me to be spending my time here instead.”
He said the doctor said he would do what he could do and that Papa needed to do what he could do. Namely, get up and walk and rest in between. While admitted, he followed orders like a champ. Upon his release, he kept up with the walking and we spent two days at museums.
He rested when he got home. (And so did we!)
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