A few months after my father’s routine cataract surgery he had to drive from his small town in central Alberta to Calgary for a check up. When I called him later to ask about it he told me that they had found a dark mass behind one of his eyes and he would have to go see a specialist. An appointment was made and from that moment on I was worried to the bone.
The day of the appointment with the specialist came and he was driven in by his nephew. I called him in the evening to ask how everything had been.
“I have bad news”, he said.
I could barely breathe, oh my gawd, it’s cancer, it’s horrible he’s going to die! So much runs through your head and ice water runs through your veins.
“What is it, Dad? Please just tell me”
“He took my driver’s licence away!”
The relief I felt was measurable. I was so scared and for a moment I waited thinking there was more. But, no. I tried not to laugh because obviously this was important to him but I couldn’t help it. I suggested that the doctor may have been right, just for now, if he needs surgery that maybe at 82 he didn’t need to be driving everywhere.
My Dad replied, “He’s a Bastard!”