If this title doesn't grab readers I don't know what will. This is the winter that wouldn't go away and cabin fever will not release it's grip on me and that means a serious lack of any redeeming or interesting blog material. My mind is fog and vacant bleariness. So I follow Sonny to the hospital and he has pestered his doctor to check out his 88-year-old intestinal tract because his baby sister was recently diagnosed with colon cancer and it's the bad kind. His usual dashing corduroy jacket and sweater vest are replaced with holey grey sweats, a sweatshirt showing all the major battles of the Civil War, a brewing company baseball cap and his coke-bottle glasses. He is dressing for comfort and I feel like I'm escorting a homeless person.
My father shows up with no photo ID, no insurance cards, nuthin' . . . He did the same thing when we flew to Florida and we were detained by scary looking officials who looked at us with narrowed eyes and kept one hand on their holstered weapons.
When I mention this to him he says, who would volunteer for this kind of test if he didn't have to have it? Point taken. He comes from an era when a handshake and a tip of the hat was enough identification, I miss that.
The receptionist is glued to her computer so Sonny gets up and walks to a framed painting on the wall, a trick I have observed after watching him over the years. If you're somewhere you don't want to be and I have sat by countless hospital beds occupied by him then examine the ceiling, the wallpaper, the brand of TV, the tiles on the floor, the shoes your nurse is wearing, find something to distract yourself. Back in his room he talks about the history of dropped ceilings after lying on his back all morning and discovers his nurse is the daughter-in-law of a man who is building an exhibit at the museum. The doctor says he is all right and he doesn't need to have this test again. We would have been surprised if anything evil showed up in the old man's colon, he eats more fiber than any five people I know. If I ingested that much roughage I wouldn't be able to leave the confines of my bathroom, but I remain silent on this subject like so many others.
My father shows up with no photo ID, no insurance cards, nuthin' . . . He did the same thing when we flew to Florida and we were detained by scary looking officials who looked at us with narrowed eyes and kept one hand on their holstered weapons.
When I mention this to him he says, who would volunteer for this kind of test if he didn't have to have it? Point taken. He comes from an era when a handshake and a tip of the hat was enough identification, I miss that.
The receptionist is glued to her computer so Sonny gets up and walks to a framed painting on the wall, a trick I have observed after watching him over the years. If you're somewhere you don't want to be and I have sat by countless hospital beds occupied by him then examine the ceiling, the wallpaper, the brand of TV, the tiles on the floor, the shoes your nurse is wearing, find something to distract yourself. Back in his room he talks about the history of dropped ceilings after lying on his back all morning and discovers his nurse is the daughter-in-law of a man who is building an exhibit at the museum. The doctor says he is all right and he doesn't need to have this test again. We would have been surprised if anything evil showed up in the old man's colon, he eats more fiber than any five people I know. If I ingested that much roughage I wouldn't be able to leave the confines of my bathroom, but I remain silent on this subject like so many others.
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| checking out a recipe for steel cut oats cooked in a crock pot, only Sonny and farm animals would be interested in this mush |
1 comment:
He's a brave Digger as we say here. Glad the result was a happy one even if the procedure was stressful. God bless roughage, I say.
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