HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY, MOM, I’M DRUGGED

I guess it’s not the worst of the greetings I’ve given my mom on Mother’s Day. There were the college years of Mother’s Day phone calls, when I’d wake up on Mom’s Day in my dorm room at my uber-liberal, hippy, hipster college, get some breakfast, and call my mom to wish her a good day and tell her about all the fun I had at our university naked party the night before (the Naked Parties corresponded with finals week and therefore, Mother’s Day week as well).

This year’s excitement started this past Thursday night when I lost my grip while holding a kitchen knife. A sharp, new kitchen knife. I was chopping off a slice of cheese and somehow ended turning myself into a cutting board. I spliced my finger and next thing I knew, my insides were on the outside! Wow! Now I have the distinct honor of being able to say that I got six stiches after cutting the cheese. I’ve never been prouder, really.

The nice doctor who sewed me back together (“What kind of cheese was it?” was one of his questions while examining the damage I had done) had a plan: We’d trick my body into thinking it didn’t feel any pain by prescribing me more painkillers than I thought was legal- or really safe, for that matter- so that I would heal with a minimal amount of discomfort. I lugged my Vicodin, Extra Strength Tylenol, Extra Strength Advil, and antibiotic home in in the healthy hand, the injured digit at this point now swollen to approximately the size of Texas. Jeez, all this for a finger?

I didn’t even take near the amount of combined pills Dr. Prescription Happy had instructed me to do, but even so, next thing I knew, the throbbing in my finger was gone- along with every other sensation besides pure, unadulterated joy. I was as high as a kite and spent the entire weekend blissfully smiling at friends as they helped me choose dinners at restaurants (alcohol, besides being off-limits of course, was plain and simply unnecessary… I had already had quite the cocktail of medicines) and having buddies remove the hammer from my hand that I demanded to help them build shelving in my closet with (perhaps another time, they said).

I gave my mom a cheery phone call at 5 AM, thrilled to be alive. The fact that my finger now looks like Frankenstein?  Not a concern.

Anyone else excited for Father’s Day?