Dear Dad

Doctors' families sometimes have a sick sense of humor (pun intended). It must come from years of dinnertime conversations that include the number of stitches put into a laceration and the amount of blood that shot out before the stitches were completed and the angle at which a broken bone was sticking through the skin and the extent of a rash which blistered and oozed pus. Maybe modern doctors' kids don't get to hear about this stuff, but I grew up the daughter of an old-time country doctor. He did a little bit of everything in his practice, and we heard about it--not necessarily to whom it happened (after all, ever since the demise of party lines and the establishment of "secure connections," people have been concerned about privacy), but that it did happen. And that it was messy and gross. But no problem! I can eat meatloaf and mashed potatoes while I listen to such talk and never bat an eye.

A few evenings before we left for vacation, Jeff, with the help of a very loyal friend Daniel, butchered our sheep. Another friend, Kevin the Painter, was there--not to help with the butchering, but just to eat supper and give "advice," I suppose. :) I had not had time to finish eating before the butchering began, so after a while, I took my plate full of food and went outside to our patio to sit at the picnic table and watch the excitement. Kevin looked at me funny and said, "You're going to eat while you watch THIS???" Sure, I can handle seeing the sheep with a bullet wound in its head and blood pouring out its slit throat while I eat my caprese salad. What's wrong with that? :)

All of that to say this: if I were going to write a letter home from our vacation to my dad, this is what it would say...

Dear Dad,

I hurt my foot last night. As I was walking beside Josiah, somehow his foot and mine collided and instantly the pain in my foot was fierce. I thought it would ease up over time, but it didn't. I took two Tylenol last night and will take two more in a moment. This morning my right little toe looks sort of grayish; I think it might be broken.

What kind of treatment do you suggest? Amputation, right?

I'll tell Jeff to sharpen his pocketknife and get plenty of ice from the ice machine across the hall. Maybe housekeeping will let us have some extra towels to help stop the bleeding.

Wish you were here!

Love,

Davene

I told you doctors' families have a sick sense of humor. ;-)