Da, SharkBoy and I are at St Michaels Emergency ward again, waiting for a gurney for Da to come available. Yet again, the goober in my father’s gut rears it’s ugly head and dehydrates him to the point of a hospital visit for IV. But this time Da has a magical note from his doctor not just to dump a few litres of liquid into him, but to up the pain killers (Da was hoping for morphine. Great. Seventy five and a junkie on the streets).

Any writer who wants to convey the weirdness of humanity should go and sit in a hospital waiting room. Across from us there was a reasonably calm youth in handcuffs with accessorized policemen on either arm. He announced loudly “No. I am through with laughing. I am through with laughing at the police. I am through with making fun of the system.” Suddenly we’re privy to his studio skills as he breaks into timed ranting rapping (Which was horrible. His metering was all off and I don’t think he understood the concept of “rhyme”). Midway through this show, enter the nurse and calls him in. He stands, not an easy feat with cuffs, continuing with his little song and gets sucked into the system, cops in tow.

The TV is blaring about the US Primaries. I turn to my father after a long pause. “Who’s your favorite Democrat?”

“Oprah,” he grimaces through his discomfort. Still has it!

After a while, they wheel in an elderly gentleman across from us who’s illness is not obvious, other than he looks groggy. Moments later, another youth, sans police escort, enters. After placing a magazine on a chair, the youth sits on it, believing he’s beat any surface viruses. He snaps up the receiver of the public phone beside his chair and makes a call. Within seconds, he falls asleep with the phone wedged between shoulder and ear. Another cop, who had brought in a woman in pajamas, shakes him awake, only after letting the entire waiting room see this stupendous stunt of balancing. “I was just I had I fell asleep because thanks okay sure!” he mutters. Enter a cabbie who announces loudly “Deedenyoneorderweeltranz?” We all look at each other and wordlessly transmit What did he say?

“Deedenyoneorderweeltranz?” he repeats faster, louder.

“Uh,” says the groggy senior.

“Whereyougo?”

“Spadina and mumble.”

“No. You are not my ride. Deedenyoneorderweeltranz?” No reply. Exeunt cabbie and dazed youth.

After a two hour wait, an plump Irish nurse comes out of the emergency doors and with hands splayed, offers “We haven forgetten ye!” in thick brogue. Da is in heaven. He’s taken in a few minutes after that. He was swallowed up too, past the doors of Emergency, given the drip and I don’t hear from him until the next day, groggy from the morphine.