It all started when I walked outside my parents loft and was greeted by Colorado's latest cottage industry.
The name of the place was "Rocky Mountain High"
The name of the competitor down the street is called "Mile High"
I'll give you one guess what they were selling.
Then I visited my uncle in a hospital.
He laughed when I told him I was going to tap into his morphine drip.
He just had a Whipple procedure.
Then I told him that I was going to squeeze the Charmin.
Even Mr. Whipple found humor in a Pancreaticoduodenectomy.
Reminds me of another story in the mountains when my father had prostrate surgery.
I put a green olive in a clear jar full of vinegar and brought it to the hospital.
I told my parents that the surgeon had preserved what the surgeon removed surgically---
and here it was!
The nurses thought I was hysterical.
My dad believed me. It doesn't take much persuasion if you are on morphine.
The surgeon failed to see the humor. He didn't like me anyway. I had wanted my dad to have the surgery at Barnes:-)
See, I was in high school. Not on a Rocky Mountain High. Anyway, my father had his appendix removed one week. The next week I started having abdominal pains. The doctor allegedly removed my appendix then. I never got to see the jar with the olive in it. Probably because appendicitis is not contagious. Or hereditary. I probably would have had a different outcome if I didn't have great insurance.
I wonder if I have an appendix--even today. What's that scar doing on my abdomen?
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