last 5 wrds:

"surgery "

My dad is having surgery today.

They found something unusual inside him. Some bump or nubbin that could be trouble. So they thought it best to remove it. Apparently western medicine subscribes to the “when in doubt, take it out” philosophy.

So, the first step was an exploratory procedure. This sounds very Magellan-like, but it involved no exotic jungles or search for treasure. Well, unless you count the bowels and colon as treasure. During the exploratory procedure, they went in with a little camera, found the growth, and tattooed it.

Seriously. My dad has a tat.

I had no idea my dad was such a modern primitive. Anyone can get a piercing or a tattoo on the *outside* of their body…but my dad is cutting edge.

The reason they tattoo it is so that when they cut him open, the nubbin is easy to find. Apparently, once we get cut open, we look less like a biology diagram and more like messy road kill.

The doctor asked my Dad if he wanted a dancing hula girl or a tribal design. He opted for a heart with my mom’s name on it. (The doctor actually drew a heart on the post-op photo)

Now my mom and me are the only ones in the family without tattoos. Maybe its time to get that Tasmanian Devil tat on my bile duct I’ve been considering.

So for a few days, my dad was like some inside-out outlaw biker. He walked around in his power suit, knowing that beneath his clothes he was a tattooed part of the “alternative” counterculture. Well…beneath his clothes, epidermis, and countless layers of flesh, tendons, etc.

Today he is getting the tattoo removed. His week as an outlaw comes to an end.

Despite the advances in laser tattoo removal, they are going to cut out the entire tattooed area AND everything around it. This includes the appendix and some other “non-essential” tissue. “Non-essential” just means that western medicine hasn’t figured out what it does yet.

I told him that when he gets into interstellar space travel, he’s gonna wish he had that appendix.

“Its really too bad there’s such a poor market for appendixes.” My dad said. Lungs, kidneys, hearts…those go for a lotta cash on the black market. But appendixes are worth crap. “

“Maybe we could find some rookie organ merchant who doesn’t know any better and pawn your appendix off as a spleen?” I asked.

“Good idea,” Dad said, “Except that the doctor needs to do tests. He feeds my appendix to a dog. If the dog dies, it means I’m sick…or maybe pregnant. I forget.”

So, send some safe healing energy to my Dad today. He stays overnight in the hospital and then will be out of commission for a week.

Once he recovers, though, we’re gonna get our tonsils pierced and then removed.



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