He Should Have Been a Surgeon

My father made it through his surgery this morning; he’s home resting and recuperating now. He’s in a bit of pain, so he’s on some strong pain killers. He’s bed-bound after years of dealing with Multiple Sclerosis, and he’s frequently in and out of the hospital. I try to get down to see him and to help my mother and brother when I can. In this case the surgery was non-emergency, but serious enough (especially given his frailty) that they had to knock him out. With the additional logistical problems caused by yesterday’s storms, it turned out to be good that I was present.

Mom’s a champ, and dad’s heroic about it; I try to provide relief when I can, even just to lighten the mood. Case in point: with the power outage, mom couldn’t find the power of attorney paperwork she needed to sign for dad for his surgery, so the nurse had him sign his own forms. With his MS dad can barely hold a pen, let alone sign anything, so his John Hancock was just a faint scribble on the signature line.

"Dad, with a signature like that, you should have been a doctor," I told him.

"A surgeon," he said.

You see where I get it from.