My dad... he’s quite a character.
For example...
I took him into the hospital for a minor procedure, albeit slightly painful. He was whining and complaining, but nothing more that I expected. He’s always been a bit of a baby about pain. He makes deathbed confessions and promises quite regularly. We’ve just learned to smile and pat his hand. “There, there...”
We went into the patient intake, the nurse asks some questions (birthdate, allergies, insurance) and then off-handedley says, “And we are going in through the right one.”
“The right?” Dad asks.
“Yes, the right.”
Awkward pause.
“But I only have one bladder...”
Cue my inappropriate laughter.
“What if they accidentally take your bladder? Mr. 'Smith', I'm sorry to tell you this, but we've lost your bladder!”
“What if they accidentally take your bladder? Mr. 'Smith', I'm sorry to tell you this, but we've lost your bladder!”
"Or like a cow, six bladders!"
"Um, I think that is stomachs."
The poor intake nurse just stares at us.
"Um, I think that is stomachs."
The poor intake nurse just stares at us.
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After they process him, he’s all attached to various machines, poked like a pincushion and minorly humiliated. They allow me back in and I magnanimously take on my responsibility of distracting him from the upcoming pain and awkwardness.
We first discuss the possibility to an alien tracking device being implanted in him during the surgery... pros and cons... are these benevolent anthropologist-like aliens? Maybe this implant can cure cancer, in which case we are all for it.
Then we move onto death by stepping into some sort of particle beam. “Kind of like in Quantum Leap!” I suggest
“Yeah! What was the name of the machine.... the kind of God like character that told him what his mission was...”
“Zoey.... Mickey... no...”
“Ziggy!” we both nearly shout in unison.
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Through all of this sparkling conversation, he is complaining about being hungry.
“They say after the surgery I can’t leave till I eat, drink and pee. So I’m thinking a big steak from the 5 star Grill... but no... what do I get? Jello.”
“I like Jello.” I cautiously interject.
“But it’s so... hospitally.”
“Oh, very clique” I add helpfully. “And dangerous, remember in 3rd Rock from the Sun?”
“Oooh, maybe a big teriyaki burger!”
“Well, if you are really good, maybe you can have one for dinner tonight,” I suggest.
He rolls his eyes dangerously.
He rolls his eyes dangerously.
----
After the surgery, I text my mother for a status update.
“Is he out?”
And her superfluous response.... “He survived”.
