My Dad is a good man who worked his ass off every hour god sent him to make sure me and my brother and sister never lacked for decent clothes, hot food, a decent education and all the books and creative outlets he could afford. Whatever I may say about Jack Bauer or Spike from Buffy being my hero for their "Punch things in the head until a solution presents itself" attitude toward problem solving, Dad is the person I truly aspire to being like, if I can raise one kid half as well as he brought us up then I'll be very happy. I'm even quite proud that I share his name (my middle name is Alexander, it is a good name)
Dad has had trouble with his stomach for a long long time now, he developed ulcers years ago because of the stress of trying to take care of his elderly parents (his brothers and sisters having long since emigrated to england and weren't well positioned to help. It didn't help that he had to mind a farm AND do the day (and occasionally night and all weekend long) job. Since then he's developed polyps on the lining of his stomach and was attending Cavan hospital to keep them under check and make sure they didn't get any worse. That was until the two specialists in Cavan hospital decided that behaving like a pair of spoiled two year olds who didn't get along any more decided that they'd rrather annoy each other, get suspended for months and leave their patients high and dry - waiting lists being what they are, no other doctor could see them for months anyway.
So in the meantime, while these two pissants (Who I will, honest to god, punch in the jimmies next time I'm down) carried on like childish gimps with no one depending on them for their wellbeing, my Dad - who has never chucked a hissy fit, insulted a co-worker and gotten suspended for months, has had the polyps develop all over the stomach with the end result being that they're likely going to have to take the sodding thing out, make him a new one out of his intestine and condemn him to months, if not years of recuperation and discomfort. Of course, a man who is now pushing sixty five years old is not an ideal candidate for something this major so I am a little concerned. Unlike the time I thought he was losing his marbles (when it was in fact *me* that was losing them), this one is a little more real and scary for everyone in the family.
So, I'll try not to be a prick in coming months, and I'm not expecting a "get out of prick jail free" card for prick behaviour and my problems are not your problems nor an excuse for me to be a prick but if I come across as being one, this is why.