Yesterday I went with Jeremy to the Jewish Festival. My brother and Evelyn and Avital and one of her friends I’d never met went too. We pretty much all hung out together. The festival was alright, but they charge you to go in, and you don’t really get anything for the ticket price. But anyway, I had some yummy shwarma, and then we headed back to my house. We decided to go swimming, and as we’re by the pool, I get a call that my dad fell at the festival, and broke his leg, and is going to the hospital.
Well, his car was still at the festival, so Jeremy and Evelyn went home, and Moshe and I went to find the car, and then headed to Decatur. Our goal was to not tell my mom about dad because she was in the middle of some lessons that day, and he didn’t want her to cancel them, but someone from the synagogue called the house to see how dad was doing, and broke the news to her. Oh well. Plan foiled. We went to Emory Hospital and he was in an ER room. His foot was turned at a funny angle, and they were doping him up on painkillers until they could set his ankle. When the x-rays came back, it turned out he had not only dislocated his ankle, but he had two fractures. To fix this, they could pop the ankle back into place, but he’d need surgery for the fractures. Damnit.
We watched as they sedated him to set the ankle, and then as they wrapped it in plaster. Apparently it was really easy for them. But not only does this totally suck in the sense that hey, my dad broke his leg and has to get surgery, but I just bought tickets to go to Argentina with him in 6 weeks. I don’t think he’ll be walking by then. Arrrgggh.
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