So, in the course of about two weeks, my progeny each underwent their own medical procedures and at the end of all of it, I have to say I’m quite impressed by what these kids appear to be made of.
It started with my youngest – my baby girl who has, rather unfortunately, inherited all of those habits of mine which the Shadow has so ruthlessly tried to ferret out over the last two decades – with minimal success I hasten to add. She’s impulsive, headstrong and, if I may paraphrase Blackadder, has a pigheaded stubbornness and refusal to look facts in the face that will see her through. What she does have which will serve her in good stead, however, is her mothers’ lovely features. I genuinely feel bad for her future boyfriends.
Anyway, she took a tumble at school which required stitches just at the bottom and slightly underneath her chin – a place that if it leaves a little scar will endow her with just enough of a scar to be endearing and mysterious – easily visible, but not blatantly obvious – all in all an excellent scar as scars go. When getting stitched she didn’t cry or whimper or anything that I would do and when having them removed she described the process and ‘prickling’ – which is not anything like I would describe it but that could just be because I know swear words.
My son at the tender age of 10 was involved in dental surgery. You see, as a British born youth of a British mother, he is culturally predisposed to needing dental surgery – it’s like Americans are predisposed toward being, for the most part, culturally ignorant of every other country on the planet except their own. We must just accept these things and move on.
When I asked him about his surgery he said the following: “It was really cool, I think they must have hypnotized me or something because when I opened my eyes the doctor was standing over me snapping his fingers in front of my face…”
Uh….yeah….hypnotized. I’m going to file this away for reference because in about 6 or 7 years I expect him to use it as a code word when he calls me at 2 in the morning from a friend’s house in an addled state of mind from Drambui or some other heinous act of beverage selection saying, “dad, sorry I can’t make it home, Bob is hypnotizing us.”
Shadow then told me that when he was coming around he was trying to say something that was pretty much unintelligible due to the four wads of gauze shoved in the spaces where his teeth used to be. Turns out what he was saying was this: “Mom, I’ve got four feet!”
I’ve only been under the influence of medical sedatives once in my life and the reaction it gave me was to make me never want to be under the influence of medical sedatives again. That fact that he used the words, “cool,” “hypnotized,” and the phrase “I’ve got four feet” and sounded excited about the possibilities that could mean for track season, give me some cause for concern as you might imagine.
It is, however, quite comforting in many ways to know my kids, although made up of DNA from Shadow and myself are really becoming their own people – and are made of stronger stuff than the gelatinous mass either of their parents would become if confronted with the same circumstances.
