"I want to see the superintendent"

My dad is 91 years old. He was well on his way to 50 when I was born, and it should not come as a surprise to me that he's not going to live forever. Each time his chronic illnesses get the better of him and he ends up in the hospital, though, I'm startled to realize that this may be the time he may not get better.

His congestive heart failure and a urinary-tract infection have left him swollen and disoriented. As of 11 p.m., though, things were looking up. His breathing had eased and his fluid output was much improved over earlier in the day. (And by the end of the night, he was tired of waiting for the nurse to bring his bedtime medication and said he wanted to see the "superintendent" -- when he's cranky, that's usually a good thing.) We'll see what tomorrow brings.

I'll post a photo of him when he's on the road to recovery and looking and feeling a bit less vulnerable. For now, though, I'll treat you to a tour of Methodist West Hospital in West Des Moines. As my brother-in-law said today, the place looks like a ski chalet. There's marble everywhere, and every square inch of wood is polished to a high gloss. The cafeteria, though, could use some improvement.