Blog #74
I visited Dr. Vascular and he checked me out. He told me I was going to live to be
120. I’m not sure I want to live that
long. You’ll be a bunch of old people by
then and I won’t know how to deal with you.
So while you’re still young, let’s talk.
Hi there. Thanks for coming back. I hope you are feeling young and wonderful
and can help me understand how my wife’s brain works. Just the other day she called me. “Fred and Ethel are going to a movie at 4:45.” No, she didn’t
use those names, but everything else I’m about to tell you is true. She continued, “I really don’t care one bit
about this movie, but if you want, we can go with them or just meet them for
dinner.” I asked her the name of
the movie and she told me, adding, “I couldn’t care less. I have no interest in that movie.” I said ok, let’s just meet them for
dinner. And she said, “Or
maybe I’ll just go to the movie with them and you can meet us
later.”
Now you tell me, is this woman making any sense? It’s like being married to Yogi Berra. Yogi was famous for his strange sayings. Like you
can observe a lot by watching and if
they don’t want to come, you can’t stop them and of course I
didn’t really say everything I said. My own little Yogi is
actually famous for some of her sayings as well. The grandkids call them Nonnie-isms. One goes like this: you can pick your friends and you can pick your nose, but you can’t
pick your relatives. I told you
she was like Yogi.
But she is loyal and caring. She went with me to visit Dr. Heart, and we decided
that, to be safe, we ought to find out what made my heart do its Speedy
Gonzalez imitation a couple of weeks ago.
So we’ve scheduled a stress test.
The instructions do not allow me any caffeine for 24 hours before the
test. What? No caffeine? No Diet-Coke in the morning? That’s like telling Donald Trump, NO TWEETING. It’s like telling Kim Jong Un, NO HAIR GEL. It’s like
telling a Catholic priest, NO ALTAR
BOYS. During that 24-hour period,
I will not write to you because, with no caffeine, I’ll be as jumpy as a caterpillar at a Sumo Wrestling tournament.
I’m back. I
survived the no-caffeine and the test. I
don’t do the treadmill variety stress test.
Instead, I get an injection of the nuclear isotope Thallium-201. It’s a little risky, but I’m glad I did
it. With these things, you have to be aggressive.
For
chest pains I should be pro-active
So
a stress test just sounded attractive
And
the good news, my friend:
I
survived to the end
But
the bad news: I’m radioactive.
For a few days, I’ll be able to heat up the leftovers
just by hugging them. After the test was
over, they gave me a Diet Pepsi. I had
not had caffeine for 24 hours, but I refused.
Pepsi? Are you joking? That’s like offering a starving man
kale. I made them search the building until
they found a Diet Coke in the doctor’s private stash. Some things are important in life.
I really don’t like talking about personal health
issues, but it is part of my world.
And if you’re loyal enough to waste a few minutes of your Thursdays with
me, then I guess I’m part of your world now. Wow, that sounds like a lot of responsibility
on my part. I guess I’d better make you
laugh. The treadmill or the nuclear
injection were my Scylla and Charybdis choices for the test, but I became
stressed another way they hadn’t even thought of. By the time I was in there five minutes, I
was shivering enough from the cold to stress out a polar bear. I was shaking more than a starlet at a
meeting with Harvey Weinstein. Why are
the labs so cold?
Doctors and stress tests and medications! It’s a lot of work being a senior. But we all adapt and come to terms with
it. The other evening we went to dinner
with friends and one of the guys at the table asked the waiter to recommend a
wine that goes well with Lipitor. Maybe
we should just eat dinner at the Emergency Room. They have a new restaurant there called Broken Bonefish Grill.
What should we talk about now? Yogi said if you don’t know where you’re going, you’ll wind up
somewhere else, so let’s see
where we wind up. There’s an Olympic
event called Race-Walking. My daughter
Jennifer used to do it. She said it was
fabulous exercise. You’ve seen it, I’m
sure. The racers walk heel to toe and
must stay in contact with the ground at all times. Bob Costas said seeing who can walk the
fastest is like seeing who can whisper the loudest. I think it looks silly. Yes, Jen, I know it does take skill and
stamina. But so does eating a sheep.
Which reminds me that I
think yesterday was National Gluttony Day.
It was August 8. So what did I do on 8/8? I ate/ate. And that’s why it’s National Gluttony Day!
I am writing today from
North Carolina where my wife, three daughters, two sons-in-law, one
daughter-in-law, four grandsons, four granddaughters, two dogs and myself are
occupying a house on Bald Head Island.
The house is as crowded as a Bangladeshi ferry and the floor looks like
a toy store after a nuclear explosion.
Time out: the word I just used is pronounced nu-cle-ar. Any of you who insist on pronouncing it nu-cu-lar should travel to
McClennan County, Texas and hang out with George W. Bush. And while I’m at it, the person who sells
real estate is a re-al-tor,
not a re-li-tor. Sorry about that. It’s the old teacher in me. One of these days, I’ll tell you some stories
about my teaching days. But I’ve run out of my time and your patient
indulgence. Yogi said it’s not over till it’s over. And you know what? It’s over!
Thanks for sticking with
me. Stay well, count your blessings and
come back to see me next week.
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