A week ago, my brother a professional chef came down with what he thought was a bad case of stomach flu. He was wrong and when he couldn't handle the pain any longer he drove himself to the hospital.
On Tuesday of last week they transferred him to MUSC in Charleston. The diagnosis Diverticulitis. The prognosis he was going to need surgery within the next month and no less than 3 weeks to recover.
On Saturday he was well enough to be was discharged and I drove him back to Atlanta. He slept most of the way and really I couldn't blame him.
He's the 3 times divorced father of 3, one with each wife and pays nearly $1,900.00 a month in child support. But my brother lives in a nice condo in a nice section of Atlanta. As professional chefs go he is paid well. But needless to say he doesn't have any money to spare and being out of work a week doesn't help.
Even so on Saturday he's in pretty good spirits. We arrive at this home around 2, just as the mail man pulls away from the building. A surprise to him is taped to his door. 2 notices proclaiming the US Postal Service has attempted to deliver two registered letters from the IRS. Not one but TWO!
He opens the door with both IRS notices in one hand and keys in the other and discovers his condo is about 45 degrees and the power has been cut off.
While he is was in the hospital his bill became past due and 48 hours later they pulled the meter.
All he could do is laugh, just then ex wife number 3 calls and says he youngest wants to come over. Sure he says why not? Within a hour his bounding endlessly 5 years old is going full steam around the condo.
Beacause thats what dads do.