Right now my dad is making the Oasis as we knew and loved them in the early 90s look like saints with as many drugs as he has coursing through his body. Don’t get me wrong, he hasn’t hit some mid-life crisis and chosen to play it out with heavy rocking and coke usage – he’s having back surgery in a week. But still, just add shot of rum to the mix and he’d be going head for head with Noel Gallagher in 1994.
Apparently my family just has shitty genes when it comes to spines. My mom has scoliosis pretty bad – she’s 5’1” and supposed to be 5’8” if that helps you visualize – I’d had two back surgeries by the time I was 22 years old, and now my dad is in so much pain he just has to lay on the sofa all day, drifting in and out of sleep. Back pain sucks. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy in the world. I mean on the one hand I’m really happy that the doctors have agreed to let my dad get the surgery because I know (from experience) that he’ll instantly feel better after waking up with all that pressure finally off his nerves, but in the meantime he’s on a steroid pack, vicodin, and muscle relaxers to hold him over during the week between now and surgery. I just wish he wasn’t going through it. Steroid packs are enough – they make you either sick to your stomach or insatiably hungry all the time, irritable as hell, and constantly thirsty.
At least he won’t be in as much pain while he has to wait. You know, on the flip side, if I didn’t know my dad was so miserable right now it would almost be funny to see him loopy as hell from being pumped so full of various pain killers. I mean, we’re talking about the most put-together dude I’ve ever met in my life. Anyway, I have nothing profound to say about it all – only that I feel for him because I know exactly what he’s going through right now and he’s on my mind.
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