Saturday, May 9, 2009

Good Luck, Chuck

Have you been getting the same amount of rain where you live as we've been getting around southeastern Connecticut? Remember what we used to hear as kids, 'nice weather for ducks'. Today's kids don't hear anything, they text; and some ducks sell insurance. Anyway, we've had a season's worth of rain in the first week of May so I hope all those weathermen who go on about rainfall deficits are happy now.

A lot of us, I think, have let the rain harsh our buzz somewhat in terms of surrendering to Spring fever. We've had some nice days, temperature-wise and have really only had warm rain to show for it, but perhaps this is the week that blue skies are up ahead. We've earned them and I hope we also get a chance to enjoy them.

Earlier this week, in a continuing effort to test the patience of the American medical establishment, I underwent a bone marrow biopsy which, and take my word on this, is NOT the most fun you can have with most of your clothes nearly on. It's the type of 'procedure' (which I think is code for 'something we can do in the office') that, no matter what the physicians have been telling you, or not telling you about your health, you start to wonder if they've left something out because nobody does this on a dare or for a lark.

In my case, I have a tiny person as a doctor--she is so slight a stiff breeze would lift her up and carry her off. And she likes to explain everything, which, in theory I endorse, except for something like this. As she is talking, I am screaming inside my head so loudly I can't hear her at all and am actually afraid she can, and does, hear me. If the cable folks ever offer a Surgery Channel, she could be a color commentator--somewhere between Steve Phillips and John Madden (there's a kernel of truth in there).

I spent a lot of time grimacing and nearly as much time thinking somewhat less than kind thoughts about the doctor while trying to NOT visualize what some of the sounds and sensations were suggesting and in what was a relatively short period of time, the whole thing was past tense. My physician's practice specializes in oncology, so while I might have been tempted to feel sorry for myself (and since I'm so competitive, I'd be VERY good at it) all I had to do while heading to the main office was look at many of those shuffling past me in the corridor and know that I had gotten the better part of the arrangement.

Hanging in the waiting room is a hand-lettered sign that puts it all in perspective from no less a philosopher than Charles ("Good Grief!") Schultz: "Don't worry that the world will end today. It's already tomorrow in Australia." G'Day.
-bill kenny

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