My Dad Confesses
I haven't heard from my parents in weeks. I hadn't really thought about it too much. Usually, they only call if they want to dispense advice or to brag about the advice dispensing they've done or, and this is the best part, to complain about the audacity of my other family members attempts to dispense advice to them.
But my dad calls last night to tell me about the trip they took to the William Jennings Bryan home and how there was a note on the door that said "We'll resume our regular hours after Christmas" and how he and Mom sat around having a good laugh trying to figure out just how long Christmas was in the William Jennings Bryan household.
And then he lets it slip, "But I still had to stop a couple of times to pee on the way down. I know the doctor said it would take up to a year to fix, but it's still aggravating."
"What would take up to a year to fix?"
"Oh, I told you how my doctor thought I might have prostate cancer and so he ran all these tests, because he didn't want to screw up again like he did on my ankle."
"You're still going to the doctor who thought you had gout when you had snapped your Achilles' tendon?"
"He says that's a great teaching moment for him in his classes."
"I bet. And so for how long have you been running around worried that you might have prostate cancer and not telling anyone?"
"I wasn't deliberately not telling you. It just slipped my mind."
"I bet."
"Anyway, it's just enlarged, but medicine will fix it."
"Like the medicine fixed your 'gout?'"
"B., except for that one mistake, he's a fine doctor."
posted by Aunt B at 2/06/2006 07:10:00 AM
8 Comments:
When my father remarried after my mother died, he and the stepmother, who is an odd bird and that's being kind, decided to hide everything going on with them. She has made it clear that we are strangers that just happen to be her husband's children.
My father and I have always had a good relationship until the new marriage, but now he tells us nothing and has got to quoting the bible although you rarely see him in a church.
I digress, he now tells me nothing except in passing conversation when I think he regresses to the "old" model of my dad and it slips.
You are much more magnaminous than I am, it really irritates me.
I worry that something will happen to him, and I won't know anything about it.
And he only lives 14 miles away.
Being an adult dealing with parents is very, very difficult.
B, our dad has the same prostate problem. My mom says it's just enlarged, nothing to worry about, he just has to pee a lot. Still, I wonder what they keep from us so we "don't have to worry." At the same time, I guess talking about your prostate gland with your kids could be kind of embarrassing. But this is your dad we're talking about.
Miss J
"B., except for that one mistake, he's a fine doctor."
OMG...good thing that one mistake wasn't on his vasectomy, or colonoscopy...and God forbid it was during some form of serious surgery or something.
Hope all goes well with Dad...my mom didn't want to tell me about her heart condition or breast cancer either...now I can't get the woman to shut up and leave me alone....I guess I'll never be happy.
I was also wondering if taking gout medicine for half a year last year might have had some negative side-effects, but he refuses to answer that question.
Miss J., I know! My dad runs around the house naked. He brags about having sex with my mom. It's usually up to us kids to insist on proper boundaries.
Anyway, I'm not too worried about cancer. I think his doctor just doesn't want to miss something obvious this time and so tested him for everything.
My dad had prostate cancer, and had it removed. He is a very practical man, an engineer turned lawyer. He began to meticulously explain all the aspects of his experience, and when he got to the part about the new mechanics of achieving an erection, I screamed and left the room.
The first time I had gout, I went to a podiatrist (Hey, my foot hurt). He concluded that the tendon in the arch of my foot was too short, and his solution was to cut slightly through that tendon, allowing it to somehow reach a little farther. I decided maybe cutting tendons isn't a good Plan A. I shudder to think if I had let that quack cut my tendon for no reason.
Ha, Knucklehead, your dad could have been in the earnest penis documentary. That would have been fun for everyone but you.
Boy Scout, it sounds like you and my dad had the exact opposite problem.
William Jennings Bryan, eh? I grew up on a street named after him in a town with his statue across from a park bearing his name.
This is irrelevant information.
Oh well.
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