Vindicated!

All my years of guilt for never becoming the perfect doctor-child that my parents wanted their first born to be have been completely erased by this one simple text message I received from my sister on New Year's Eve:

Dad just called me. Aunt P is constipated.

I love my aunt, but I'm really glad I'm not the one that suffered through four years of medical school to discuss manual disimpaction with her because my dad decided I was the one qualified to deal with it.