Another gem Ross inherited when he put a ring on it was the incomparable Dr. Dad. New wife and new family? Excellent. New Doctor-In-Law? Gravy.
You may be surprised to learn that having Dr. Dad around actually sometimes hindered my ability to get the medical care I was sure I deserved. My father is a cardiologist. And when your dad spends his day poking around at people’s vital organs, your whole “My tummy hurts” routine isn’t even a blip on his radar.
But to be fair, having this wealth of medical knowledge walking around our house has turned my sister and I into minor hypochondiracs. The second either of us found a red dot on our pinky finger we were all, Dad! I’m DYING! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve asked him if I was headed six feet under only to hear the response, “We’re all dying, Katie. One day at a time.” God bless him. He’s technically right.
Last night I started developing a particularly annoying cough – the kind that shows up at precisely the time your husband has decided to go to sleep, causing him to say, “Yeah. You’re gonna need to do something about that.” So I found a bottle of cough syrup and checked the expiration date. February? No problem. This isn’t milk we’re talking about here. But after taking a swig and nearly choking to death over the more-than-normally wretched taste, I decided to examine the bottle a little closer:
My brain of course told me I may as well have taken poison so I immediately grabbed the phone to text my father (Dude has an iPhone. He Facebooks, Tweets, Texts — you name it. Dr. Dad is HIP):
Dear Dad, I took cough medicine that is over 1 year expired. Oops. Will I die?
Did he answer me? NO. He was too busy galavanting around the streets of New Orleans with my mother to care about the impending doom facing his first born. But the extra glass of wine I had at dinner had pretty much won and I fell asleep seconds after my head hit the pillow.
This morning my dad sent me an “aren’t you jealous” picture message of their breakfast in the Big Easy. Once he received my reply and was sure I was concious he sent this:
By the way, you didn’t die of old cough syrup.
Touche, Dr. Dad. Touche.
Image from Heart Healthy Living
(And yes, the doctor in the photo is my dad.)