If you're not a fan of the movie Young Frankenstein, please don't read any further.
Not long ago when my brother, JC was having cataract surgery done at our local hospital, one of the nurses remarked,”I know a rather brilliant surgeon. Perhaps he can help you with that hump.”
“What hump?” JC asked.
The male nurse introduced himself:
“I'm Bill Blucher, (somewhere in the distance a horse whinnied) and I think Doctor Stein could help you.”
“Who's doctor Stein?”
“Doctor Frank Stein is the foremost hump remover on the Oregon coast.”
“I'll think about it,” JC answered, shaking his head, “What hump?” he mumbled as he left the hospital.
Several weeks later while we were sipping wine on his deck, JC surprised me by saying, “I think I'll get this hump removed!”
“What hump?” I said, trying to be polite.
“You know, the one on the left side of my back.
“I thought it was on the right side,” I said.
I first met Doctor Stein in the pre-op room at the hospital, just before JC's operation. He was a frail man, but the fire in his eyes showed a glimmer of his genius. He introduced himself and then began a speech that I felt he had given many times.
“From that fateful day when stinking bits of slime first crawled from the sea and shouted to the cold stars, "I am man,"our greatest dread has always been the knowledge of our mortality. But today, we shall hurl the gauntlet of science into the frightful face of death itself. Today, we shall ascend into the heavens. We shall mock the earthquake. We shall command the thunders, and penetrate into the very womb of impervious nature herself!”
“Oh, I'm sorry,” he said, seeing the confused look on my face, “I'm afraid I get carried away.” He carefully drew an arrow to the hump on my brothers back with a magic marker. “This is just so we don't make any mistakes,” he said, “Sometimes these humps can be quite elusive.”
As nurse Blucher rolled JC into the operating room, I thought I heard the crackle and hum of electricity, but it was probably just my imagination. I retired to the waiting room and read several out dated issues of Family Circle, Time Magazine, and Neurology News before I finally gave up and went out to the parking lot and my car.
I opened a book I'd borrowed from JC and read until my butt got tired of the car seat, then I walked back into the waiting room just in time to hear the receptionist call my name.
“Doctor Stein wants to talk to you,” she said, “Do you remember how to get to the surgery pre-op?”
I told her that I could find it in my sleep and after getting lost and asking for directions twice, a nurse led me to my meeting with Dr. Stein.
The doctor told me to sit, and then began: “From that fateful day when stinking bits... Oh wait, wrong speech. Your brother's fine. The operation was successful and we removed the hump from the left side of his back.”
“I thought it was on the right side,” I started to say, but thought better of it.
“He'll be fine, he just needs to take it easy for a couple of weeks. I've written a prescription for antibiotics, pain pills and electroshock if he needs it.”
I resisted the urge to yell, “It's alive!” as I opened the curtain to my brother's recovery cubicle and watched as nurse Blucher removed the IV's and helped JC get dressed and into a wheel chair for the trip out to the parking lot. At the car he shook the nurses hand and thanked him for his help.
“Blucher,” (a horse whinnied in the distance,) where have I heard that name before?” JC asked.
“Oh my grandmother was famous in the old country, but please don't say my last name anymore. I get tired of hearing that damned horse whinny!”
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