DOB (father of blogger) came over for dinner. Just DOB.  No others to redirect the conversation when it, as it invariably does, turns to scatological matters.  And with my having an endoscopy on Friday, we would need the conversational fortitude of all family members to keep the subject, shall we say, appetitive.

I became a little desperate when I realized that the “regulars” for Sunday dinner were unavailable and it was just DOB and the three of us:  POB (partner of blogger), TLP (our son, the little prince) and me.

The excuses:

• SOB (sister of blogger) was working this weekend at the hospital,
• therefore, HOSOB (husband of SOB) had to stay home to feed SOB, and
• Cousin Gentle and CB (Cousin Birder) were separately out of town.

All reasonable excuses; however, in the aggregate, totally unacceptable.

And POB, always a little afraid of what someone from my side of the family might say, stays in the kitchen and cooks.  She can hear everything and I can tell her displeasure by the increased numbers of needlessly dirty pots and pans that are left for me to clean.  Oooops. I digress.

For the record, DOB is a perfectly lovely man and he was a wonderful father. Now, let’s get to it.

He asked how I was feeling after the endoscopy.  Not waiting for an answer, he told me how lucky I was not to have a colonoscopy.  He has had over ten.  I mentioned that I am glad that he no longer has them (he is near 91) because I understand that the preparation for a colonoscopy is rough.  He started discussing all the things that could go wrong in the procedure, like a puncture of the bowel or whatever (at this point, I am not listening because I am deciding whether or not to lunge out of the window).

POB walks in because she felt an intervention was necessary.  She almost texted SOB at the hospital to rush over to run a Code Green (as in POB was turning green from the conversation) and save us from ourselves.  POB, G-d bless her, tried.  And failed.

DOB paused politely while POB tried to maneuver us away toward more common pre-dinner conversation.

Then DOB started to tell me that he thinks he needs a colonoscopy because — I tried to stop him there.  I don’t need the details. But his hearing isn’t so good, so he didn’t hear me plead for him to stop. Instead he alluded to discomfort, waiting for me to ask for more information.  I didn’t ask because if he tells me, I will surely lose my mind. He made more allusions but I wouldn’t take the bait.  This is a battle for my sanity.  If DOB realized the stakes involved, he wouldn’t push it (he is after all a lovely man and good father).  He would have walked into the kitchen and grossed out POB.

He moved on to the procedure he might have.  Sanity preserved — for now.

Of course, he said that if the doctors found anything, that given his age, he wouldn’t want any invasive treatment. Ok, ok, ok, ok.  You want to have a risky procedure at your age just as an information gathering exercise?  And torture your daughters, who will go with you and take care of you afterwards?

In my head, I am screaming, “SO, WHY ARE WE HAVING THIS CONVERSATION AND WHY DO I KNOW DETAILS ABOUT BOWEL MOVEMENTS THAT I NEVER, EVER, NEEDED TO KNOW??”

Just then, SOB called, as if she knew I was about to lose my mind.

“So how’s it going over there?” she asked.  I imagine that her head was already in her hands as she was awaiting my answer.

“Dad’s having some elimination issues.”

“OOOOooooh.  I am really sorry I couldn’t be there tonight.“

SOB knows my sanity is on the line and she is my protector.  But there are sick patients in ICU.  There are just crazy people in my home.

“Dinner!!!” POB calls.  My salvation.