I have received permission from the Mother in Law to tell one of the funny stories from yesterday after her surgery.  She said I could tell it “Cause it’s funny.”

After Hazel had been in the recovery room for a bit, the nurse came to ready her to go home.  (I have to say again how thankful we are that everything went so beautifully).  The nurse recognized Hazel from her Ellen appearances and was asking her about the cheeseburgers she made on there.  She asked us to leave for a minute because she had to do some things that were of a rather personal nature. 

While we were standing outside, Hazel’s preacher and the associate preacher came by.  (I guess other denominations do this, I know the Methodists do, but, Baptists go see their flock when they’re ill or infirmed and that’s good).  Now, Brother Glenn is not one familiar with what Hazel does.  He’s not into country music at all.  He strikes me as a rather serious dude who takes his pastoring very seriously.  He seems to have a decent sense of humor, but, I doubt very seriously you’d ever hear a string of colorful words fly out of his mouth, even in moments of peril. 

Brother Herb is an older gentleman who is everything warm and fuzzy I am reminded of when I think of my denomination.  He’s a very kind, soft spoken, caring guy that I bet gives the little ones at church gum every Sunday.  (Every Baptist church has one of those guys.  It’s Mr. Wayne at mine, but, actually, he gives peppermints.)  Bro. Herb has shown up more than once to family hospital stays and other occasions.  He’s a good man.  People who think all men in the Southern Baptist Convention are pigs who hate women, have never met Bro. Herb. 

Anyway, so we’re standing out in the hall with the Parsons.  Niece Smiff, who is almost two, her father, her grown brother, Mr. Smiff and me…doing the small talk regime you do in situations like that.  Everybody’s watching little Mattie and making comments you make when there’s a toddler toddling about:  “I wish I had her energy”, “She’s busy, isn’t she?”  That sorta thing. 

Suddenly, the door opens and I couldn’t see Hazel so I didn’t go back in the room for fear of being mooned or something.  Mr. Smiff went in (he’s used to surprises with her, I guess).  I then hear my husband so “OH MY GOSH!”  My thoughts ran rampant.  I figured it had something to do with the Holy Temple we call our bodies. 

I’ve been Hazel’s daughter in law for almost 18 years.  I was present in 1997 when they brought her to her hospital room after her heart attack.  The Manchild was then 5 years old.  He was sitting in the corner of the room, facing the bed, when they sat his grandmother on the bed, with her regulation, hospital gown, NOT TIED in the back.  I knew what he was seeing.  Bless him, he said not a word, but, cupped his hands around his mouth and did his notorious Biff Collie Grin and was stifling laughter at being mooned by Grandma.  There are many stories about Hazel in the hospital or sick situations, so I figured Mr. Smiff musta gotten the moon.  I had already her say “The preachas are here.  I got to put my teeth in.”

The reason Mr. Smiff was slightly concerned was because as the nurse was helping Hazel get dressed she announced, loudly, “MY TITTIE IS STUCK TO MY STOMACH!”  I did not hear these now famous words, but, my brother in law (who was standing outside the door WITH the Preacher Men) heard it loud and clear and he’s quite sure that they heard it, too.  Of course, they are far too professional and dignified to crack up on the scene, but, I bet they had a good belly laugh over that once they got in the car. The medical people had actually taped the bosom down cause Hazel is well endowed, y’know.

That’ll teach them to go pray with Hazel Smith immediately following Girlie Surgery!  When one goes to see her in the hospital or when she isn’t expecting you, is bound to be in for a dandy surprise.

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