Please Pass the Vicodin

My dad's surgery went great. They were able to decompress the nerves in his spinal canal so that he can now walk pain-free. He was up and moving around a bit on the same day of his surgery. Pretty amazing.

I stayed with my mom the night of the surgery. I may or may not have accidentally gotten her drunk.

The next morning, my dad called...all hopped up on Vicodin...and told my mom that he needs his shorts. He was still in his hospital gown, and would probably remain in that gown until he was discharged.

"Bring my shorts when you come up to the hospital. I NEED MY SHORTS!"

My mom wasn't sure what he was talking about. "You mean your undershorts? Well, they are in your suitcase in your room!"

"I NEED MY SHORTS!"

"What are you talking about??"

"THE PHYSICAL THERAPIST WILL BE HERE IN AN HOUR AND I DON'T WANT HER TO SEE MY JEWELS...I NEED MY SHORTS!"

This sent my mom into a laughing fit from which I didn't think she'd recover. In between trying to catch her breath, she gasped, "Who the hell would want to see his jewels, anyway? Like the physical therapist is gonna look!" More uncontrollable laughter ensued. She was still laughing about it when we got to the hospital. My dad had calmed down by the time we got there, but after about 10 minutes, he suddenly remembered his jewels. "MA! GET MY UNDERWEAR! K (that's me), SHUT THE DOOR!"

I politely excused myself from the room, explaining that I didn't care to see my dad's jewels, either, and would let my mom take care of putting on his "shorts."

He doesn't remember any of this, of course. He's so hopped up on Vicodin that he barely knows who he is. When we were there yesterday morning, he thought it was night time and wondered why the sun was still out. But apparently, this narcotic is key in his recovery. It provides relief from the pain so that he can get up and walk around, which he's supposed to do (and has been doing) every 45 minutes or so. My dad is a strong-willed German...there's no stopping him. Just don't peek at his jewels.