Deja Vu All Over Again

I always hoped my children would find there were certain aspects of mine they would find worthy of  emulation. Unfortunately, the list appears to be paper thin. It is not my singing voice, not my sense of humor, not my myriad inabilities stacked one on top of the next. They did not follow me on my career path. It is not that they don't like me well enough. It was just that I was left to meander through life in my own fashion, while they have followed their own bread crumbs, thank you very much.  That is, until this past weekend. Most regrettably.

Today I visited the doctor who had first diagnosed the extent of the trauma to my left shoulder several weeks ago. I also made a trip to the same lab that took images of my injured parts. But on this occasion it was not to reinspect my wounds, but to examine another member of my family. Did this have to be the way in which my son chose to be like dear old dad?

What odds would you give that, within a month after my fall, my first born would trip over his ski pole and land with a resounding thud on his ski season, merely and clearly so he could practice empathy rather than sympathy. The left rotator cuff and biceps tendon both barking at him in a similar, though seemingly slightly less aggressive tone than the orchestra of scratching fingerprints across a blackboard that were shouted into my ears. 

It is hard to decide whether to laugh or cry at the distinct possibility that we will soon be side by side in the rehab facility performing the same tasks. The ringmaster advising (by our last name) that one of us needed to step it up, and each of us thinking he was talking about the other. The best news, for the moment, is that it is hoped he will be able to avoid the surgeon's scalpel, although I do have a good one to recommend should push (or fall) come to shove.

Our residence looks more than ever like a wing of a hospital. With ice packs and bottles of pills, my ever-present sling, all hosted by my wife. When one peruses the dictionary for the word beleaguered there is little doubt whose picture is prominently displayed. Now faced with the impossible task of tending to the needs of two very needy people.  When I asked her today as to the two words she most regretted uttering, it was intended as the perfect set up line for the expected, and received, retort :"I do."

I say this in a whisper (so as not to put the hex on it) but my recovery from last week's surgery has gone swimmingly to date. The imagined horrors of the first few days at home did not materialize and I think I have been semi-pleasant in the house. I can only hope that my son's injury proves less consequential than feared, and that soon he is fit and willing once more to test out the laws of gravity on the slopes.

For the moment, we are holding our collective breath. As for my wife, I can only imagine what she is thinking. But I would wager a small fortune that her words of contemplation are suitable for mature audiences only.