Some of you may remember that sometime back in August, my dad fractured his tibia, tore his meniscus and told everyone my mom pushed him down the stairs and hurt him on purpose. He opted not to have surgery on the knee since the surgeon basically told him they couldn’t really DO anything for it so he might as well try and let it heal on its own.

Then back in March, the old man fell at a church dinner dance and BROKE HIS EVER-LOVING HIP on the same side of his body as the bum knee.

And I guarantee that while he was screaming and crying waiting for the ambulance, my mom was all I TOLD YOU TO GET SURGERY ON THAT KNEE because it was unclear yet why he fell and my mother assumed his knee had given out as it was wont to do.

My mother is the queen of I TOLD YOU SO especially when you’re in agony from some physical ailment. She MEANS well, God knows she does but oh does it drive me crazy because it’s obviously too late for YOU SHOULD’VE LOOKED BEFORE YOU STEPPED ON THAT NEST OF WASPS.

My favorite instance of this is probably when I call her weeping because my uterus is making me puke and she’s all I TOLD YOU TO GO SEE YOUR UNCLE THE CHIROPRACTOR and I’m all THAT DOESN’T HELP ME NOW and also, WHAT DOES MY UTERUS HAVE TO DO WITH THE ALIGNMENT OF MY SPINE?

Mom is big into telling us all we should’ve gone to see our uncle the chiropractor, whether we’re complaining of uterus pains or a broken ankle or wasp stings. I mean, I feel her. She’s been taking us kids to the chiropractor since we were two and we were barely ever sick and I GUESS that has to do with proper spinal alignment along with a healthy dose of Jesus Christ but WE JUST DON’T KNOW. And I’m getting off topic. What I wanted to say was that she was lecturing my dad about his knee and I bet you she asked him if he had been to the chiropractor, I BET YOU SHE DID.

Regardless, my dad’s knee totally freaked out over this past weekend and we’re not exactly sure why. They took another round of x-rays and an MRI today at the surgeon’s office and I hope they gave my dad some kind of narcotic because I got a text from my sister that simply said – DAD IS IN SO MUCH PAIN HE’S CRYING AGAIN and those sorts of texts make me anxious. Turns out something happened to the knee, probably related to the hip surgery and now he has shooting pains and he’s crying and he can’t sleep and he told my sister that the other night, the pain was so bad that he just woke up and started SINGING to distract himself.

DAD. THAT IS SO ADORABLE MY HEART IS HURTING.

I asked my sister what songs he was singing and she told me it was a bunch of old folk songs he used to sing to us kids as lullabies.

When I read that, I started crying because I just had the most pathetic picture of my dad clutching his bum knee in bed wailing, LITTLE BOXES ON THE HILLSIDE, LITTLE BOXES MADE OF TICKY TACKY…

(Even more pathetic? Sing that with a Brooklyn accent. “LITTLE BOXES ON DA HILLSIDE…”)

Oh. Dad.

Hopefully, they will fix the problem soon. And not have to amputate.

Ha.

HA???

In the mean time, we can count on my mom to just be all – YOU OVER DID IT, I KNOW YOU DID, YOU’RE TOO STUBBORN, YOU’RE DOING TOO MUCH and DID YOU GO SEE THE CHIROPRACTOR?!?!!?!?

This is comforting in and of itself because if my mom wasn’t around, who could bother us like that??

And I’m not really giving her enough credit here because even though she is very vocal about chiropractic care, she has been taking amazing care of my dad. Without fail, every time I call him, he’s all, YOUR MOTHA IS AN ANGEL! AN ANGEL, I TELL YOU. And I believe him. Last time I was home, she was washing his hair in the kitchen sink because he couldn’t make it upstairs to take a shower.

STOP BREAKING MY HEART YOU GUYS.

I called my dad the other day to see how bad the pain was.

Dad: PRETTY BAD LAWRA, PRETTY BAD. FEELS LIKE SOMEONE IS CUTTIN’ MY KNEE OPEN WIT A KNIFE.

Me: Ew. I’m so sorry.

Dad: (eternally optimistic) Eh, it’s temporary. I’ll figure it out.

Me: Um. I GUESS?

Dad: In otha news, I got da bill from my hip surgery…

Me: Yeah? You don’t have to pay it, do you?

Dad: Oh no, insurance will.

Me: Health insurance…what’s that like??

Dad: Guess how much that metal ball in my hip cost?

Me: I have no idea.

Dad: NO, SERIOUSLY I WANT YOU TO GUESS.

Me: Oh. Um. $5,000?

Dad: (cackling) GUESS AGAIN.

Me: Okay, tell me.

Dad: NO, I SERIOUSLY WANT YOU TO GUESS.

Me: Oh my God, Dad, I DON’T KNOW.

Dad: OKAY, FINE. $43,000!!!!!

Me: WHAT?

Dad: Can you imagine that? My body is worth THOUSANDS OF DOLLAS.

Me: Wow. Does that include the hospital stay?

Dad: Nope. With the metal ball and the hospital stay – $70,500.

Me: WOAH. Hope I don’t break my hip until I have insurance.

Dad: I got an idea.

Me: Yeah?

Dad: If I die anytime soon…

Me: DAD.

Dad: OKAY FINE. IF I DIE ANYTIME AT ALL…

Me: (sigh) Yes.

Dad: You should cut that metal ball out and keep it.

Me: I’m not gonna keep it. I’m gonna SELL IT.

Dad: That’s what I meant.

Me: ON EBAY.

Dad: GOOD IDEA.

Me: I’m gonna be rich.

Dad: All ‘cuz of my hip.

Me: THANKS DAD.

Dad: No problem.