My dad can still eat red meat and fast food in moderation. (I don't understand it, but apparently it's okay with his doctor, and my mom's a nurse, so I trust them on this.) But apparently salt is Really Bad for him. Therefore, my parents' house is The Place That Salt Forgot -- I'm always tempted to bring my own when I visit them.

My dad asked for a cigarette on THE STRETCHER on his way in to the hospital for his first heart attack.

While my aunt was in the cardiac ICU recovering from bypass (or maybe angioplasty), she had someone sneak a smokeless ashtray in so she could smoke. In the ICU. With all the oxygen tubes and so forth.

Oh, well, I've got the hat trick. DADDDDS - Dads in Denial about Diet, Drinking, and Smoking.

As the doctor told my mom when she tried to get my dad to quit smoking after his heart attack--"The more you mention it, the more you make it a problem he has with YOU, rather than his problem which he has to figure out for himself."

This is incredibly true.

He's actually been doing a lot better on the smoking and drinking front since his knee surgery, far better than I would ever have imagined. But now he's starting to get mobile again, which means it may not last. He's got this girlfriend who is the worst fucking influence - all they do in hang in a bar and smoke and drink and eat crap. Oh, and watch Wheel of Fortune. I hate the fact that I have every expectation that he'll be back to his old waste-of-space ways in short order.

I can get used to Dad not taking care of himself and going the way of his father (1 heart attack, bypass surgery, and colon cancer).

What's scary to me about my dad is that he has always more or less taken care of himself -- never overweight, quit smoking at 30, pretty physically active, drinks in moderation. But his father died of a stroke at 53, as did several other relatives. And my dad had his first heart attack and got an automatic defibrilator at 42.

Dad is almost 55 now, so I'm hoping he broke the family curse.

Wow, I killed the thread dead. Sorry.

she speaks from experience and knows the ways of the stubborn greasy spoon fancier.

Your food snobbery is showing. And the best cheeseburger places don't even provide spoons.

My husband's grandfather, after his massive heart attack, went to live with one of his sons, who proceeded to take away his cigarettes, booze, and porn. The man was in his 70s. Son policed him rigorously for months. Grandpa called another son and said, "Get me out of here." Son #2 pulled up, Grandpa got in, Son #2 drove him to the place he'd lived for 50 years, looked the other way when Grandpa got out the whiskey and the Camels, said, "You sure about this?" Grandpa said, "Go home, boy." A few weeks later, Grandpa was dead and the rest of the family was calling Son #2 a murderer. Hubby said, "Grandpa died like he lived and made his choice. What right do any of us have to tell a grown man who knows the risks 'No'?"

Nobody gets out of here alive. Wheat germ doesn't change that.

I'm not going to ask dad to eat wheat germ, but while I am the main cook in the house I'm going to make some changes.

I checked out The Dreaded Brocolli, a funny cookbook written by a woman (and her daughter) after her husband had a heart attack and they changed their diet. Both women love to cook and love food, but have a really relaxed attitude. I made Barley Mushroom Ragout recipe that was very tasty and made way more than I thought.

My dad made broccoli slaw the last time we saw him. It was surprisingly tasty. Not in that "Okay, I can barely tolerate eating this" way, but in the "Hey, coleslaw only crunchier!"

My mother's dad started working in coal mines when he was 12. He smoked non filter cigarettes most of his life. He made his own moonshine. He drank heavily up until he died (including a case of alcohol poisoning at age 80 and an incident where they had to call the police and evacuate his trailer park because he got drunk and started shooting at "rats"). The man ate bacon every morning and loved sausage gravy and biscuits with fried eggs and fried apples.

He lived to be 88 with no cancer, no long hospitalizations and he died with a full head of hair. Go figure.

The Dreaded Brocolli title comes from the fact that when ever the couple went out to eat anywhere (and they were in NY -- this was in the late 80s) the vegetable choice was almost always broccoli.