Spare parts
The surgery is set for 2 p.m. CST.
A flurry of mobile calls while I drove to work: a very close friend from my hometown called and will visit dad today – and called the church to make sure they were aware (and would send someone), then called to add dad to a rosary circle that prays every day (I love this woman!); first sister called to say her driving progress was slowed due to snow, but there she would be there; my friend, Don, just called to check on me.
I called dad for one last pep-talk.
“The doctor’s here right now looking at my leg,” he said.
“Tell him to get a Sharpie out and write, ‘Take this leg only,’” I said.
“Hey, my son wants you to write on my leg, so you know which one to take,” dad said, laughing.
“Don’t worry, Ed, I actually do have to initial it,” the surgeon said. “But I’m sure by just looking, we’ll know which one to take.”
“My leg looks pretty bad. I don’t think they’ll mess up.”
I had to ask…
“So, dad, what do they do with your leg when they’re finished?”
“What do you mean what do they do with it?”
“Do you get to keep it?”
“What the hell would I want it for?”
“I dunno, you could put it in the freezer, join up later.”
“Maybe I could bury it, I’ve got a plot.”
“Or you could bury it under the maple tree.”
“Yeah, I could do that; hey what do they do with my leg?
“They burn it.”
“Burn it? You OK with that?”
“Christ, I don’t want the thing.”
Keep it light.
Dad’s ready.
“Thanks, Thom. Thanks for calling. I’ll let you know when they’re done. It’s going to be fine.”
A flurry of mobile calls while I drove to work: a very close friend from my hometown called and will visit dad today – and called the church to make sure they were aware (and would send someone), then called to add dad to a rosary circle that prays every day (I love this woman!); first sister called to say her driving progress was slowed due to snow, but there she would be there; my friend, Don, just called to check on me.
I called dad for one last pep-talk.
“The doctor’s here right now looking at my leg,” he said.
“Tell him to get a Sharpie out and write, ‘Take this leg only,’” I said.
“Hey, my son wants you to write on my leg, so you know which one to take,” dad said, laughing.
“Don’t worry, Ed, I actually do have to initial it,” the surgeon said. “But I’m sure by just looking, we’ll know which one to take.”
“My leg looks pretty bad. I don’t think they’ll mess up.”
I had to ask…
“So, dad, what do they do with your leg when they’re finished?”
“What do you mean what do they do with it?”
“Do you get to keep it?”
“What the hell would I want it for?”
“I dunno, you could put it in the freezer, join up later.”
“Maybe I could bury it, I’ve got a plot.”
“Or you could bury it under the maple tree.”
“Yeah, I could do that; hey what do they do with my leg?
“They burn it.”
“Burn it? You OK with that?”
“Christ, I don’t want the thing.”
Keep it light.
Dad’s ready.
“Thanks, Thom. Thanks for calling. I’ll let you know when they’re done. It’s going to be fine.”
Comments
Think positively.
SG
continuing to ask for blessings for your father and for strength for you.
s.