...when it gets to be 90 degrees.
1. Nap/sleep
2. Drink lots of water (Ice cubes and flavoring required)
3. Keep hair wet
4. Wear at little clothing as possible (We don't want to get arrested do we?)
5. Sit in front of a fan/air conditioner
6. Read a book (this activity does not bring on perspiration)
I've been reading a book. Dave Barry's I'll Mature When I'm Dead. He's a very funny man, I enjoy his humor and he frequently has me in stitches. The same holds true for Bill Bryson, another wonderful writer who views of life are seen through sometimes warped rose colored glasses. Just like I do.
Anyway, this morning I was sitting out in my front yard, on one of my park benches shaded by one of my yard umbrellas reading I'll Mature When I'm Dead and came upon the chapter The Health-Care Crisis (Wash Your Hands After Reading This).
In this chapter he gives a kind of rundown on his take of the history of medicine. I'm telling you, I was in stitches (not the surgical kind) practically rolling around my front yard. (There were no neighbors roaming about, so don't worry, men in white coats will not be stopping by later.) He begins with Shamans, discusses Egyptian, Greek and Roman accomplishments then briefly touches on the Middle Ages...who's only accomplishment seems to be clothing the dead and finally moves on to modern medicine and our current health care system.
He has an imaginary patient, I will call Sandy. She imagines she needs a new and better prescription and visits her doctor to inquire if it would help her. And so begins her saga of visits to Labs, Specialists, EKG's, MRI's, CAT scans and a great deal more poking and prodding. All of this was terribly funny, yet oh, so true. I was especially captivated by his description of the clinic waiting room; and the wait that is excruciating long, boring, and spent perusing years old magazines while (at the same time) checking out the other patients and wondering what the heck you just might catch from them.
Eventually a young woman, clad in a smock that is supposed to be comforting and cheerful, appears at a doorway, calls your name and ushers you into an exam room. You are asked to remove your shoes and step onto a scale. (I don't know about you, but I hold my breath in the hope it will reduce my weight by a couple of pounds.) Next, I'm made to come face to face with a wall while a piece of metal eventually comes to rest on the top of my head. And the smock clad woman announces, I've lost yet another fraction of an inch and I'm now less than five feet tall.
She takes my blood pressure, announces it's high, to sit quietly for a few minutes and she'll try again.
Oh, and here, put on this gown.
(I've learned to take a magazine with me knowing I'm going to have a lot of alone time.)
Smock lady returns, announces my pressure is better, the doctor will be here soon. Off she goes.
I finish my magazine and begin to look around the room. Posters adorn the walls and there is an over-sized calendar on the wall. There are cabinets, with closed doors. And counter spaces with stuff on them. My mind wanders.
Are there hidden cameras in here? I check ceiling corners and cabinet tops. Nothing looks suspicious, still I can't help wondering if in some tiny room I'm being watched to see if I'm going to walk around the room and fill my purse with tongue depressors, cotton balls, Q-tips or maybe that obnoxious 'thing' they use when you have to have a pap test done. (Who wouldn't love to drag one of those home as a memento?)
By now I feel forgotten, every once in a while I hear footsteps, but they fade away. There's an occasional laugh...have I done something funny. I would like to open the exam room door and flee. But, I'm afraid, what if I open the door and it leads to an alternative universe, or even worse what if I fall....
into....
oblivion.
Dave states in his book how the doctor tap-pity taps on his computer during the 'physical', my doctor does the same. She asks a question and as I answer she is tap-pity tapping my response into her computer. She nods occasionally, so I know I'm answering correctly. Now, don't get me wrong. I actually like my newest doctor, even though I didn't have a lot of choice in getting her. You pick a doctor from a long list at the clinic of your choice, if the one you think you might like is accepting new patients, you're in luck. Otherwise you have to keep going down through the list. I got lucky, my doctor is great, I think she actually likes me, and she actually listens.
Anyway, I have an appointment to see her in early September. Like Dave, I wish I could have a good dose of anesthetic so I could sleep through the whole thing, and then not remember a thing about it afterwards, but I know we've not advanced that far ahead in medical history. I guess I will just have to bite the bullet and charge full steam ahead and try to find humor in it all.
Now, here's the thing, according to the 'rules', I must have an annual physical in order to keep my medications coming on a regular basis, and technically this visit is for that purpose. Oh, guess I will get weighed, un-heightened and have my BP checked (yes it will be up...it always is....I hate doctors). This year my 'physical' is actually close to my birth date, which is today.
And, here (finally) is what I actually wanted to share today. Yesterday I went to the mailbox, and inside were envelopes that appeared to be birthday cards...they were. Then there was an envelop that had computer generated printing on it. When I ripped it open it was a brochure for a Cremation Service. This cracked me up!
Dear Sandra, it read.
They want to "pre-plan my final wishes" to:
1 Remove the emotional and financial burden from my loved ones
2 Ensure harmony and peace of mind among loved ones during a particularly stressful time
3 Find a plan that is both dignified and affordable.
Please let us supply more information. I'm under no obligation.
Sincerely,
blah, blah, blah.
Now...what kind of a birthday present is that????
Dear Crematorium:
No sweat...I've donated my body to science...memorial service will be handled by them, cremation to immediately follow.
Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday dear Sandra
Happy birthday to me.
.........and, many more.
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