When Max broke his Femur he stayed in the hospital for two nights. Before they would release Max he had to meet certain physical criteria (like fitting into a car seat and wheelchair) and Lauren and I had to meet with various hospital staff members to learn how to care for the broken leg.
One of the parental requirements for release was for us to watch a 20 minute video on hip-spica casts. Lauren watched it the day before and I was required to watch it the day we were meeting with the physical therapist and other staff. The video was a typical cheesy hospital production of the "dos and don'ts" of care giving for hip-spica cast. Part of the video explained that although movement is limited with this type of cast it is important for the patient to lay in different positions to prevent bed sores and itching. The video instructed us to use pillows and bean bags and other things to position the patient. It also showed people with this type of cast in all various positions.
Later, the woman physical therapist, the female nurse, Lauren and myself were going over all the release papers. The physical therapist was going through a checklist to make sure all criteria was met. Car seat-check. Wheelchair-check. Pillow-check. She then asked us if we had seen the video.
"She watched it yesterday." I said pointing to Lauren. "And I just watched it today."
"Which one did you see?" Asked the therapist.
"I am not sure what it was called." I said.
"There are two videos and I need to verify you saw the correct one."
And this is the moment that I say things that I shouldn't say in public.
"I am not sure what the title was but the video I watched was like the Kama Sutra of hip-spica casts." I said.
The room became silent. I could hear each of the women's eyeballs shift from side to side looking at each other as if asking "did he just say what I think he said?" but not wanting to admit to knowing what the Kama Sutra is. Awkward.
And in typical fashion in these circumstances, Lauren sighed one of those sighs, which from where I stand sounds like a mixture of embarrasment and disbelief that she married me with a hint of "here we go again."