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2004-11-08 Reason Number 4,327 Why My Father Should Be Cut Like A Bitch Recently, a parishioner of ours who owns a travel agency took my father aside and told him he deserved a vacation. “Anywhere you like,” the travel agent said. “Take your wife someplace really nice.” (My father has the kindest parishioners in the world, despite the fact that they live in Ohio and you want to bomb them all. Actually, my idea was to poison the water source, but the river already produces Newts of Startling Luminosity and Catfish with Actual Mustaches, Not to Mention Beards and the Occasional Forelock, so I figure my work is already done.) Now, my mother has never been on a nice vacation in her life. My mother would have been thrilled to vacation in a car parked in front of the house, just as long as the children weren’t allowed anywhere near it. My father has the chance to take her to Hawaii, or Italy, or Barbados, or Ireland, or Norway…okay, you know what? The Geography Bee is the Bee I did not win. The point is, my father has the chance to take her anywhere. And what does my father do? My father books two spots on a—wait for it—Rebublican Cruise. According to my father, “many Republican celebrities” will be present. (The Republican Cruise is not, by the way, reason number 4,327 why my father should be cut like a bitch. The Republican Cruise is reason number 4,326 why my father should be cut like a bitch.) So. My mother resigns herself that she will be spending two weeks of her life on a Republican Cruise, with many Republican Celebrities, and suddenly she develops what seems to be a severe case of pneumonia. This is nothing new; my mother gets pneumonia every year. It grows steadily worse, however, and she complains of difficulty breathing, stabbing pains in her lungs, a nonexistent appetite. She drives herself to the hospital, they take a series of X-rays, and… Two days later she’s back in the hospital, being prepped for a lung biopsy. The X-rays show that her lungs are filled with dozens of nodules, and the nodules are metastasizing rapidly. It is either cancer, the doctors say, or a severe fungal infection that needs to be treated aggressively and immediately. “We’re going to make an incision in each lung,” the doctor says, “and then insert tubes into the lungs to prevent them from collapsing and to help them drain. You’re going to need a catheter for at least two days. The chest tubes will be in for two days as well.” “Okay,” my mother wheezes. “I don’t know,” my father sighs, shaking his head. “I just hope you’ll be well in time to go on the Republican Cruise. It’s in a week, you know.”
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