Strategy for Keeping Your Pants

My father, who I adore and have been rumored to act JUST LIKE, has a bit of a thing about doctors. He doesn't like them. Ok, that isn't true. They're mostly fine people as long as they don't expect him to actually visit their offices. I only remember him seeing doctors twice in my first 30 years, both times for major surgery. Two years ago he started having serious shortness of breath, problems walking any distance at all, and a couple of incidents of chest pain. Dad waited about three months to see a doctorwhen my mom finally hog tied him and drug him to their local GP.

A couple of hours later I got a call from Mom, who was at Baptist Hospital, in the ER, a bit freaked out because they wanted to do a heart cath and possibly put in a stent. Dad was throwing a fit because it meant he'd have to stay overnight, which he did NOT want to do. She was afraid he would walk out.

Luckily for all of us, they'd already taken his pants. For two years now he's told anybody that's asked that that's how they get you. They take your pants, then you can't leave.

In the past year he'd gotten rather irritated with his cardiologist and quit going for checkups. Since I'm rather fond of my dad and just as soon not have him die any time soon, I got him an appointment with one of the heart docs here, on a day they were going to be here anyway for one of Mom's appointments (no excuses to not go!). That day was today. When they first got here I took them over to the Pavillion and stayed with them in the waiting area until they were called back (mostly to make sure he didn't bolt). While we were waiting another guy walked up to check in, with an extra pair of pants and shoes in his hands. I leaned over and told Dad, "See, he came prepared. He's got extra pants in case they take his."

It would not surprise me at all if Dad showed up at a future appointment with an extra pair of pants.