I woke, bleary-eyed, and disoriented. The windows told me it was dark outside; the sun hadn’t yet risen in the sky. I glanced over at the clock, whose harsh red glow told me it was half past five in the morning. I climbed slowly out of bed, trying to wrap my mind around what Felix told me last night. My dad was in the hospital. My dad, who’d never been sick in his life. He was one of those freaks who never got the sniffles, never had a fever, and never got grumpy. He was just always so…level. So steady. He was not prone to peaks and valleys, physically, emotionally, whatever.

I remembered one time when I was about eight he raised his voice at an incompetent bank teller, and I was so scared and surprised I started crying. He immediately calmed down, and frankly, I couldn’t remember another time something like that happened. Then, all of a sudden, he had high blood pressure? It just didn’t make sense. Hopefully the doctor would be able to shed some light on all this craziness. Maybe he needed to change his diet? Get some exercise? Wasn’t that what they said about getting older? It was important to stay active?

Dismissing the what-ifs, I got dressed quickly in some old work clothes I had at the house, and sped towards the hospital. The sky lightened quickly on my drive; summer had almost arrived in Modesto. It was already bustling in the hospital when I walked in, the day’s prep already started for all the accidents, births, fatalities and various managed conditions. Hospitals were hard to be in. They were a place both of power, and of powerlessness. And at the heart of this place, the most inescapable decisions, we either face toward, or turn away from.

I could feel the culmination of heavy decisions and so many human emotions: fragility and strength, anger and loss, celebration and apathy.

I asked for my dad’s room at reception, and they directed me to it kindly. They told me the doctor would be in at seven, and would start his rounds. I nodded silently, and headed towards Dad’s room.

He was still sleeping, and he looked so much smaller in that bed. His color was terrible, his whitened skin so strange compared to his usual crinkly lined tan. He seemed more tired than the last time I saw him.

I sat with him for a bit, just staring at him, drifting off into nothing-mind.

Eventually he stirred a little, and I sharpened my mind back to the here, as he opened his eyes and saw me. He focused for a moment, and smiled.

“Hello little ghost,” he said softly.

He would occasionally say this to me when I looked ‘small again’, as in, when I got a look on my face that I used to have when I was a kid. Apparently I had a habit of holding so still, I would tell him I was trying to disappear. So he nicknamed me his little ghost. I struggled to choke down my emotion.

“Hi Dad. Felt like staying at this fancy hotel last night?” I smiled back.

“Ja, you got me.” He patted my hand, and squeezed me. “I had some weird feelings after dinner last night; you know, my heart started racing, and I got dizzy. I decided to check myself in, and the doctor said my blood pressure was too high, so he kept me here to run some tests. I’m sure I’m fine, just need to change the pills, ok?” he said dismissively.

“Dad, what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, honey, I told you before. Let’s talk about you. Tell me something cheer-making,” he said firmly.

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I could tell from the look on his face he was not going to tell me anything else, so I told him about meeting the Mayor of San Francisco, though at this point I couldn’t have cared less. His face lit up, and he asked me a bit about the charismatic Flint Lucasey. I told him a few details, but when I caught the doctor passing by out of the corner of my eye, I gave Dad a quick hug, and stepped out quietly to meet him.

I shut the door to the room, and the doctor led me a little way down the corridor, closer to the nurses’ station. I had butterflies the size of baseballs in my stomach, and this wasn’t making it any better. Shouldn’t they take you to a room? With soft music, and a place to lie down and die when they tell you bad news?

“Good morning, my name is Dr. Tuva. Everyone calls me Tuva.” He smiled briefly.

“Hi there. I’m Pale, Jeffrie’s daughter. I’m a bit tired, I drove here right after work.”

“Yes, your dad told me you would likely do that. I’m glad you came so early. We need to discuss a few things. Do you have time now?” Dr. Tuva asked briskly. I nodded my head Yes.

“Well, the bad news is, your dad had a mini-stroke last night. This was caused by his high blood pressure, because it puts added force against the coronary artery walls. Over time, this extra pressure can damage the arteries, which then cannot deliver enough oxygen to other parts of the body. For this reason, high blood pressure can harm the brain and kidneys and, in Jeffrie’s case, increase the risk for stroke, which was what happened to him last night.”

I was stunned. Dr. Tuva went on in some more technical detail, but I couldn’t process what he was saying. I wanted to hear him, but he just started to wah-wah out on me, like white noise. I had no idea it was, or could get, this serious. I broke out of drowning briefly, tasting air.

“Is this something we can fix? Is this related to his diet?”

“This is definitely something we can work on. Since he came in so early, we were able to treat him and run some tests right away. I’m hopeful that if we make some changes to his blood pressure medication, and keep his stress levels down, the outlook is good.”

I broke through the waves, able to take a huge gulp of air. There was a good chance.

“When can I take him home?”

Dr. Tuva smiled again. “Later today.”

I went in and told Dad the news that we could go home later today, keeping silent about what the doctor told me. We visited briefly, and I told him I would be back this afternoon to pick him up. I headed home to get showered and find some cleaner clothes. I cleaned the house mindlessly, dusting, moving a few things closer together. I considered going in the garage, but decided it was not worth upsetting him. He’d probably booby-trapped it anyway.

Soon enough the day had flown by, and I was back at the hospital picking up Dad, walking him gently to the car, leaving that mortality castle behind us.

Back at home, he was livelier, though easily prone to getting tired. Over dinner I decided to bring up the topic of me moving home, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

“Who knows what will happen now that you’ve met the Mayor! I had no idea this job could be so helpful for your career, little ghost. Try to look up, eh? I want you to do well, that’s all.” He gave me a hopeful look. I felt the waves lapping at me dangerously again.

“I know, Dad,” I said absently, clearing the dishes. I didn’t know how to give him what he wanted without making my own life unbearable. But what if my choice to pursue my own dream caused him undue stress? We spent the evening together in companionable silence. I stayed with him for the next week, helping him recover and get his color back. I called Selene, and she understood completely, taking me off the schedule until I returned.

Dad was capable of handling most of the menial things, just a little more easily winded than before. After a few days, he headed out to the garage and dug up an airplane model for us to assemble. I humored him by helping.

Seeing him get his strength back, and that he was able to take care of most of the household chores, gave me hope that perhaps this was an isolated incident. Feeling considerably better, I told him I’d be leaving the next night, and he grunted his acknowledgement.

On my drive back to the city, I decided that it was time to relieve a little pressure and have some fun.

I arrived in the Bay Area close to midnight. I took a deep breath, pulled out my phone and dialed Michael’s number.