Meds

My good friend called yesterday and began the conversation with, "I just took a muscle relaxant, so I don't know how good I'll be long for talking."

Rachel took some narcotic painkillers this morning before her post-op appointment and she just wouldn't stop (trash) talking.  In the doctor's office she rambled, "So, this really hurts, yeah, right there where you touched.  What did you do there?  Why did you do that?  What do you mean you put an extra screw there?  Do you like cutting people?  Have you always wanted to cut people?  Even when you were little?  I think you put a screw there just so my leg would hurt.  And look at these bruises.  Who did that?  Why?  Do you people like hurting people?"

The surgeon looked at me and I just shrugged, shook my head and rolled my eyes.

But I love his answer, "Yes, you were specifically targeted for persecution by the hospital staff and me.  I wanted to be a lumberjack when I was seven.  Then I wanted to be a computer programmer when I was 14.  Then I didn't know what I wanted to do - so I went to college and now I'm an orthopedic surgeon.  I cut people for my job, not because I want to make you hurt."

I'm so glad he has a teenager at home.