The Good Stuff
My family has always relied on honesty and humor to get us through our collective troubles. Nothing is sacred, and no topic has ever been too taboo for us to discuss. We're very open with our affection toward one another, and none more so than my mother and father. Those two really love the hell out of eachother. I think, perhaps, that is why I have no problem writing the things I do. Nothing much embarrasses me, and it's all due to the way my parents raised me.
I know I've written some sad, nay, depressing posts about my father's failing health, but this certainly won't be one of them. For all his problems, he's always been able to maintain his twisted & perverse sense of humor, inevitably making his rapid decline just that much easier on us.
My father takes a lot of medication...A TON, to be more precise. Now, I'm no doctor, so I'm not quite certain what all his pills are for, but it seems like a vicious cycle to me. One medication helps control the numbness, but the side effect is that he has to pee all the time. So he takes another pill to control his bladder, which in turn makes him sick to his stomach. That, of course, means he must take another pill to help with the nausea...and so on and so forth. Like I said, it's a vicious cycle. One horrible effect, though, is worse than the others. For a man, it's nearly akin to a death sentence.
Let me go back a step...
About five years ago, my father met me at my office and took me to lunch. My co-worker and close friend Maria joined us. She was somewhat aware of how open my family and I are with one another, but on that particular day, well, let's just say she got a crash course in the Trixie family business.
My father was describing his latest batch of medications, and the various afflictions they were supposed to cure. Out of nowhere, he said, "You know what the worst part of all this is? I can't get it up for your mother anymore." After performing the Heimlich maneuver on Maria to dislodge the tortellini she was choking on, I asked my father if he had talked to the doctor about Viagra.
"I've got an appointment with him this week."
"Do you think it'll be ok to take it with all the other meds you're on?"
"I don't know, but screw it. If it doesn't, I'm going to stop taking all that other crap. I want to be a good husband to your mother."
Let's all say it together, folks...awwwwww.
About a month later, pops came back & took me to lunch again. I asked Maria if she'd like to join us, and surprisingly enough, she said yes. Actually, I think what she said was, "Are you kidding? There's no freaking way I'd miss out on this!"
There we are, enjoying our salads, and Maria starts elbowing me, whispering, "Aren't you going to ask him? I'm dying to know what happened. Please! Ask him!"
"So, dad...what did the doctor say about the whole 'Viagra' thing?"
"Oh! Yeah!" he said. "I'm on it now. If your mother was pissed before because I wasn't able to get it up, then she really must hate me now. I'm chasing her around the house like a goddamn seventeen year-old!"
And that, my friends, is the GOOD STUFF.