I'd rather play at hug o'war

I think I spoke too soon. Apparently, my grandfather's aortic valve is shot to hell. The damage is so extensive, it's pretty much a miracle he's alive. He'll be going into surgery on Thursday to get that replaced as well as three bypasses. Mom is optimistic, plus she really likes the surgeon, which means he's top-notch.

Crap. Here come the tears.

My grandfather had a seizure yesterday. He's in the hospital, but only for observation and to have some tests performed. He's on a regular diet and doesn't even have an IV. Mom, from what my grandmother described, thinks he had a stroke then suffered a grand mal as a result. The test results should be in today.

Of course, all my grandfather, stubborn butthead that he is, cared about was that he was going to miss out on the T-Bones he got out to thaw. This isn't a surprise to any of us. When he nearly severed the tip of his finger (it was dangling by a breaths-width of skin), he came in and requested a bandaid from my grandmother because he "cut his finger." She had to threaten to hit him over the head with her iron skillet to even get him in the car. If I wasn't five hours away, I would give him a good shake. Followed by a hug. He gives the best hugs.

Sigh. I'm not ready to lose him yet. I want a good ten years to pass without me losing someone I love.