Being a pancreas

This first thing that was said to us in the hospital… “you are now a pancreas.” The doctors and nurses explained that because Saul no longer had a functioning pancreas (for all intents and purposes) we (or anyone directly responsible for his care at the moment) would have to serve as this bodily organ performing the duties that it no longer carried out.

Two things came to mind.

1.       I  imagined his pancreas (with sun glasses, flip flops , a beach umbrella and pina colada in hand) standing in front of a homemade sign reading “on vacation… not returning”

2.       I imagined myself in a Ms. Frizzle kind of way shrinking so small that I actually went in through Saul’s nostrils, hitchhiking my way to wherever that lazy no good pancreas was… and beating the crap out of him… you know… just because… GET UP AND WORK YOU LAZY BUM… NO FREE RIDES AROUND THESE PARTS.

Instead I tried desperately to concentrate on the newly acquired responsibilities assigned to me. Shaking my head in agreement with Dr. Irene that yes… I can do that. I can do that. I can do that. I can do that. I refrained from asking the important questions or sharing my points of concern “will there be any extra pay involved?” “What do you mean I have to get up in the middle of the night?” “Was that lazy good for nothing pancreas getting paid overtime when he was doing this job? “

My best friend Lisa just sent me a text. Her husband is going above and beyond the call of duty tomorrow to deliver our kids’ newly purchased playground for the backyard. I text back… What can I do to repay? Food?  Beverage?  Money? Tell me.

Her response: He wants nothing. He’s being a pancreas.

Forget that stupid old broke down pancreas Saul… you got something so much better… you got 10-15 people being your pancreas now and we’re not going to fail you.