Wait, I forgot the first part.
A year ago, Dad had a quintuple bypass. It was by far the most intense, scary surgery anyone in our family had ever had. That morning, my middle brother and I met our parents outside the hospital. Both looked nervous and frightened out of their wits. My brother and I went into care mode. During the pre-op time one of us would stay with Mom while the other stayed with Dad.
That’s when the fighting started. Neither one of us wanted Mom. During the entire time Dad was completing the registration process, my brother and I were carrying on like…well, us. When my parents went into the prep room and we had said our goodbyes, a very stern looking nurse approached us and said:
“Follow me please.”
Halfway down a hallway, she unlocked a door and asked us to go in. As she walked away, she turned and said, “Please don’t close the door.”
Once she had left, I asked my brother: “Are we in trouble?”
He simply answered, “This may be a record for us.”
Two minutes later, a woman ten times sterner appeared at the door. She asked, “Do we have a problem?”
She may have asked this based on information that stern #1 had given her. Or perhaps it was that, in only two minutes, I had built a house of cards using prostate care pamphlets, while my brother had started an inappropriate relationship with a vibrating armchair.
I stood to answer partly because I am the oldest, but also because I was the only brother in the room not having sex with a piece of furniture.
“No problem, we’re sorry. Our Dad is having bypass surgery and we’re very nervous. If you want we can go to the waiting room.”
She answered quickly, “No, thank you, there are people in there. Please do not leave this room until your father has been brought to the OR. You can then go to the main waiting area.”
“I’m sorry, I will have to step out when I get a text, our brother will not be able to find us in here.”
All color ran from her face as she asked: “There‘s a third?!”
My brother, who by now was sharing a cigarette with the La-Z-Boy, looked up at her and said with not a note of whimsy in his voice, “Yeah. And he’s the crazy one.”
As she left, he turned to me and asked, “Are we in hospital jail?”
Five hours later, Dad was in recovery, as everyone breathed a sigh of relief. We shared with the family the reason for the armed escort leading us from one waiting room to the other earlier.
Mom was not amused. Baby brother relished the fact that he had not been involved and the middle and I blamed each other.
So back to today…
Today my mother had an exploratory procedure at a central Jersey hospital. After a day in the OR and recovery, my baby brother and I helped our parents into their car before we headed back north. Mom turned to us and said “Thanks. Thanks for being here, and thanks for not being arrested.”
Sure, Mom. Anytime.
12 comments:
If one is lucky, or maybe if one lives right, one occasionally has a chance to re-do something one f***ed up the first time. Heartfelt congratulations for getting it right this time. That's right, I mean you in this case. I love Mr. Moose's Story Book.
We are very lucky parents to have three sons who are truly wonderful human beings. Remember the game barrel of Monkeys. That is a discription of Michael and Gary in help mode, Christopher is an a minor player in the barrel. I know Christopher thinks the monkeys are out of control.
We have a great history of nuts in our family
What the eldest brother forgets to mention are the events that precipitated being placed into “hospital jail.” I was with my father at the admissions desk when the masculine admissions nun or ex-nun, Francis (her real name) asked dad “What is the name of your doctor and the procedure you are being admitted for today?” To which I interrupted and replied “most days he can’t remember where his penis is to take a pee and you expect him to answer a complex 2 part question like that? Sister, let’s get real!” At the same time the eldest was trying to climb into the giant fish tank and hide behind the coral to escape our mothers incessant and repetitive saying of the day “stop acting like an asshole, this isn’t a joke you know.” To which I replied, who's acting? Seriously, what a buzz kill she can be! Anyway, at the intersection of fish tank and penis is where Francine waved over the hospital Gestapo and had us put in “hospital jail.”
Now, in my own defense, the chair that I was allegedly humping was not a vibrating chair it was a deep tissue massage chair. It is true that I was lying on it scrotum forward but my exact comment was, “If I am going to get a deep tissue massage I want it to be on lower front not my lower back!” After all a little quintuple by-pass shouldn't fuck up a perfectly good rub and tug session.
oh lord.
i thought it was bic and the chair?
WTF were you all doing at the hospital anyway? Couldn't you use the legendary Magenta home surgery skills?
hilllllllarious! oh my god! you guys are sooooooooo laugh out loud! would you write the movie already and as larry the cable guy says "git her done!"
gary....i miss you and i love your response!
rub and tug!
Yall are too much. Is it possible that Gary might be funnier than Michael? Oops. Did I write that out loud?
I'm kind of disappointed the baby brother hasn't chimed in yet. I don't think I've ever heard a Magenta family story that wasn't followed up with at least two more wildly-divergent versions.
As good as the stories are when you hear them the first time, it's the recollection from the other witnesses that takes them to the next level. Sort of like a North Jersey version of "Rashomon."
It's never two wildly-divergent stories. It's always the same old story. Asshole A is an Asshole. Asshole B is an Asshole. They get together and Act Like Assholes.
dragon lady loves Emma's comments
Baby Brother has purposely not chimed it and for a very good reason. He was not been seen by his mother as "The Good One" since his first day at Aunt Florence's nursery school in 1977. Therefore, he's not looking to jinx this new cush role of "the well behaved one" he has found himself in since the publication of "Sad But True"
As for "the legendary Magenta home surgery skills," both Middle Brother and Baby Brother are proud graduates of the Frank Magenta School of Heated Pins and Nail Clipper Surgical Studies, our services were offered to our father in his time of need sadly they were not accepted.
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