Photobomb

Photo BombI just couldn’t resist this one.

It’s April 15.  Here I am in the recovery room after 12 hours of anesthesia.  I have absolutely no recall of being here.

But the doofus involved in this photobomb does.  After spending all day in the waiting room, cafeteria, hallway, cafeteria, waiting room,  my son came in for a post-op howdy momma.

Such devotion.  Compassion.  Dignity, even.  My son is a physician.

My other son, his twin brother, is a contract analyst.  He can’t bring himself to say the word “nipple.”  If he’d been at my bedside, the sight of the oxygen tubing sticking up my nose would have made him faint.  

There are a couple of lessons here.

Two beautiful newborns, having occupied the same uterus at the same time, sharing an identical prenatal environment, can grow up to be two beautiful and very, very different men.

And…one should never have one’s photo taken after 12 hours of anesthesia.

How long will you lie there, you sluggard?
When will you get up from your sleep?
Psalm 6:9 (just slightly out of context)

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