When Things Go Bad (part one)

 When things go bad, they go bad quick. 

     Like weight gain, for example. The last time I asked my wife if my chin looked fat, she told me, “Which one?”

     My wife is beautiful… but rude. 

     Anyway, that’s how I found myself in the hospital ER with my elderly father this past weekend.

     He was in the shower when he slipped and gave himself a pretty good conk on the head. It was followed by a nice little lump and, even though he didn’t want to go, my wife insisted I take him to the ER to get it checked out. 

     “I’m fine,” he insisted. “I don’t want to go.”

     “But what if you have a concussion?” my wife argued. “You could go to sleep and not wake up.”

     My father, who suffers from insomnia, said, “That would be wonderful.”

     It sounded pretty wonderful to me, too. I haven’t gotten a decent night’s sleep since my first kid was born. 

     At the hospital, it took them a while to check us in, but that’s another story for another time. The ER never seems to be full, but it always takes a long time to be seen. One time, and you’ll think I’m joking, we took my youngest daughter, who was just out of her toddler years, there because she had stomach pains. We were in the waiting room so long she got well on her own, so we left. 

     I figured then that’s the scam the medical profession has. They PRETEND to do things and prescribe things, but when it comes down to it the body heals itself. In the case of my father, they took x-rays of his noggin. 

     “Everything looks good,” the doctor said when he finally made an appearance. “I’m Dr. Simon,” he added, shaking hands all around. 

     I always hesitate before shaking a doctor’s hand because you never know what they’ve been up to. Still, you can’t be rude. They’re the ones who decide whether or not you get a shot. 

     He took my father’s vitals and everything was within range of where it should be. 

     “Physically, you seem fine for a man your age,” he told my father, “but with a head bump we can’t be too careful, so I’m going to ask you a few questions and you answer as best you can.” 

     We all agreed.

     “Do you know where you are?” he asked.

     “I’m at Providence Hospital,” my father answered. 

     “Very good, and do you know where you live?”

     “I live in El Paso, Texas.”

     “And who am I?”

     “You’re Dr. Simon.” 

     “Excellent,” the doctor said. “I think you’re okay to go home.”

     “I think so, too,” my father answered. 

     The doctor went off to get my father’s discharge started.

     “You did a good job answering those questions,” I told him. 

     “It was easy,” he shrugged. 

     “It was?” I asked.

     “Sure,” he said. “I just read the answers off of his badge.”