The day before my father turns 66 years old, he will be in the Hospital for Special Surgery here in New York City to get a brand new hip joint. At the time of surgery, it will be almost nine months since his initial fall and about eight months since he contracted a staph infection and nearly died. He has not set both feet on the ground since April.
The call from the doctor’s office came yesterday afternoon.
Everything in place. Cleared for surgery. Date on the calendar.
My father called me third as is customary: he called first my mother and then my older brother as he likes to relay news to his children according to birth order. I yelped aloud at work. At home, on the other end of the phone, my father was unable to keep the excitement out of his voice.
“I GOTTA GO,” he nearly yelled. “I GOT LOTSA PEOPLE TO CAWL.”
Ah yes, you do.
And so we wait, just four weeks more.
December 29th: we are ready for you.