So, my dad’s recurring diverticulitis finally landed him in the hospital. He’s going to be fine, but I’m somewhat worried about him. I became less worried when I heard he pulled this little stunt.
He’s on a liquid diet until the doctors decide when, precisely, to operate on him to take out the portion of his intestine that’s inflamed. It’s not exactly a routine operation, but it’s not completely out of the ordinary either.
He’s stuck just drinking chicken broth and eating Jell-O until they figure out what to do with him, or until his intestine de-flames. He’s basically fine with this, since solid food was making him feel rotten.
And as he put it, “I’ve lost a whole bunch of weight with no effort!” I mentioned this might not be a recommended method o weight loss, and he said, “Who cares? It works!
However…oh, however.
He asked his doctor if, as long as he skipped the olive, he could still have his martinis. I was stunned my stepmother didn’t kill him on the spot.
What stunned me even more: The damn doctor said, “Oh, I don’t see why not.” Uh, perhaps becauase HE’S IN THE HOSPITAL, YOU STUPID FUCK?
My mom, who ratted him out to me after getting the story from him, also told me that one of his friends showed up shortly after the all clear, martini shaker in hand, and happily fed dad his first doctor-approved martini.
I swear to God, I’ve never wished the ability to remotely slap people upside the head existed as much as I do right now. Dad and the Doc are lucky as hell it doesn’t.