No borracheras for you!

7 AM on the dot, I answer the phone, cranky at being awoken from my slumber:

Me: Hello??... (this better be good, person!)
Dad: Mija, I'm in the emergency room, but I need you to go to work.
Me: Huh?? (Why work??)
Dad: Right now I'm in the emergency room, but I'm just going to go back to work. I need you to be there so you can take me to my doctor's appointment later. I need you there.
Me: OK..... (I scoff)

I hang up the phone.

Wait, did he just tell me he's in the emergency room?! Fuck, I'm a monster!

So I get up and get dressed as fast as possible, i.e. I take off my basketball sweater, throw on my UNLV one, grab the first pair of pants I feel, and step into some flats.
I then grabbed my backpack, and my cell phone with the charger still attached.
I grab two hair ties, and I'm out.

Outside I see Little Sister is parked behind me, so I wake her up and she's pissed.

Does she not think it's weird that I'm up at 7:05 in the morning on a day that I head to school almost at 2 in the afternoon? What a jerk!

I get to work, put my hair in two pigtails, and get the story.
I guess Daddy suffered some sort of panic attack, had one of the customer take him to the emergency room, then that same customer coaxed him into coming back to work so he could make his scheduled appointment with a surgeon on time.

Originally Dad was going to go to this thing alone, but I guess nerves got the best of him.
That makes me :(

I kept beating myself up over scoffing at him before hanging up the phone earlier.
And the way he said "I need you there" made me feel horrible.

It's strange to see a guy freak out... especially a guy who I've always viewed as... somewhat devoid of feelings.
Don't get me wrong, I love my Dad and I know he loves us, but he was raised in this strange... macho way where "men" aren't supposed to show any sort of emotion that isn't... rage.
My Daddy's a lamb though... so he just didn't show any emotion as we grew up.

Anyway... at the doctor's office Dad kept telling everyone I was "studying medicine" and that I was going to be a doctor (and in that situation, how can you be an asshole and tell your scared father that "NO!! I'M NOT GOING TO BE A DOCTOR! DOCTORS ARE FUCKING DICKS!"?).
Everyone kept asking what medical school I went to.

I'm wearing a UNLV sweater, does that not tell you anything?

I'd have to politely say "Umm... I'm... not sure if I still want to..." and then cower into the corner without saying anything else.

Well, once the surgeon got there (he too asked what med school I went to) he explained everything that's going on and instead of getting upset or anything, I found myself feeling relieved and kind of happy.
???
I guess I made it out worse than it actually is (and now that I know they're going to fix him, I'm glad).
Kind of.
And Dad had also been hyping it up (and getting it wrong. I proved it when I made him re-tell me what the surgeon told him so I could check how well he understood what was being said to him.
Dad: There's going to be two operations!!
Me: No, Dad! He's going to cut you in two places... not operate you twice. Relax).

Everything's going to be cool... after the surgery. It doesn't even seem like chemo will be necessary.

However... we did find out that the people who work at the endoscopy/colonoscopy place are a bunch of fucking inept retards who fuck shit up (thanks to that, I had to be driving up and down the Las Vegas valley from 7 to 10:30 AM).
They fucked my Dad's file (lost it, to be exact), so now he has to endure another colonoscopy tomorrow so the doctor can target/mark the area that the surgeon will have to excise.

Poor Pops.

At least we have a surgery date... and then Daddy will be cool.

However... the date's close to the time my bro will be taking Finals (for me it's a couple of days before my finals) so I have no clue if we're going to tell him about it or not.

This also means no Mexico for Christmas.

I guess I'll leave getting trashed in the rancho for next year...
And I had been practicing my dance moves and everything... man.
:)