Thursday, January 14, 2010

Under the Knife


I love that phrase, under the knife. My mom is a nurse and she chuckles about the patients who refer to their surgery this way.

Speaking of surgery, I asked my dad if he saw my brothers when he went under the knife. He said didn't see anything. "Any bright lights? I asked. Even though my dad is quite self sufficient and reserved, I still think there's a part of him that likes all the attention that being sick garners. I sensed this in him while he was repeating the story of his surgery for the fifth time.

After he finished with his aneurysm story, he solemnly said, "My days are numbered."

Thinking back to when my brother died instantly after slamming into a rock wall, I replied, "Aren't they all. I mean, how much time do any of us really have here."  Then I asked him, "So, how long did the doctor give you?"

"Well," he said in a drawn out way, "the doctor actually didn't say that. I just think that I won't be around for much longer. It'll be quick though. I'll just drop dead when the aortic aneurysm bursts and I won't feel a thing."

Wow, what exactly do I say to that. Finally, I settled on saying, "that's how I wanna go. I want it to be quick, maybe doing something that I love." Then I add, "I'll miss you dad, I'll miss you a lot."

 

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