My parents, I love them dearly, are veryinvolved.  They show up toeverything.  I am pretty sure the firsttime I was going to talk to a client they wanted to be on the phone.  So naturally they did not leave my side thatfirst day in the hospital.  They wereright there.  And when I saw “rightthere,” I mean like, “rightthere.”  And,I guess, since I didn’t put up any sort of fight with them being there thedoctors, nurses and administrative folks at the hospital assumed that myparents were more than welcome to listen to and receive updates regarding mycondition – which, of course – they were.

But… this does not mean they are more than welcome tohear about every minute detail of my life. When you are in the hospital there are a lot of people asking you a lotof questions.  A lot of very personalquestions.  And I am not sure why SO MANYpeople had to ask me the same questions over and over and over again.  And the whole time there were mom anddad.  Only one nurse and later one doctorwho actually made my parents leave the area before re-asking me these personalquestions about my life and lifestyle. And to them I say, thanks, but they already know everything.  And when I say, “everything,” I meanEVERYTHING. 

By the time I was admitted to the hospital for surgeryI had pretty much quit smoking (again, that is, since I had quit for 6 monthsin early 2008).  I mean, I was in thehospital for 2 days the previous week and my mom pretty much moved in with meover the weekend, so there was no smoking since before the first hospital stay(quick back story:  I have never smokedin front of my parents – except when my dad caught me smoking when I was 18.  While it was obvious I was a smoker – and howcan it not be obvious – it was never formally discussed except for theoccasional mini lecture on the dangers of smoking).  So there we were in the little curtained offarea and the nurse firing away question after question as if this were theSpanish Inquisition (I have no idea what that means, by the way).  Name, age, height – I can handle.  Weight – Ugh, fine.  Last bowel movement – really?  You really need to know this?  Alrighty, you’re the one who asked.  Last menstrual cycle – slightlyuncomfortable, but whatever that is fine. Level of sexual activity – oh gawd – followed by a list I had to choosefrom.  Can I just tell you there is noway I am pregnant since that is what you are most concerned about?  Do you drink? Yes.  Do drugs?  Um…. No? Smoke?  Um… not anymore?  Please elaborate.   Here it goes…

Me:  I quitsmoking.

Nurse:  When?

Me:  Last week.

Nurse:  And howlong did you smoke before you quit?

Me: (Deep breath) 10 years.

Nurse: How much did you smoke?

Me:  Half a packto a pack a day.

Big Jon Ruud: Jesus, AMY!

Mama Rose Ruud: Jon, please.

Me:  Dad, notreally the time or the place.

Nurse: Good for you for quitting.

Me:  I wasforced into it.

Big Jon Ruud: GOD DAMNIT, AMY!

Mind you, we went through this at least half a dozentimes in the 5 days I was in the hospital. Looking back on it now I can think of 4 things:

1. Since I couldn’t actually see the look on myfather’s face (who is what I would consider a self righteous non-smoker) I canonly imagine the look and I am sure it was priceless.

2.  Being laidup in the hospital while admitting that I have been a full time smoker for thepast 10 years was probably pretty genius since it really is neither the timenor the place to get into it with my parents. And it has not been discussed since. I also have not smoked since (almost 3 months now – go me).

3.  Being laidup in the hospital and receiving morphine every 4 hours is a great way to quitsmoking… and lose 15 pounds – trust me I know.

4.  If I had todo it all over again – and God I hope I never do – I will request everyone toleave the room when the interrogation begins. I suggest you do the same, unless you don’t care who knows when the lasttime you pooed or got a piece was.