Living Proof

Every time I try to get an appointment with my gastroenterologist, it's like trying to book a meeting with the president himself. They book you out two or more months in advance, and if it wasn't for their automated 'day before reminder' calls, I'd totally forget. Siri usually tells me I have an appointment the exact minute I'm supposed to be there. Pointless. Now I tell Siri to remind me a day before. They had given me another doctor because mine was way overbooked. I was getting an examination and scheduling for my endoscopy since I was in the hospital for my stomach pain and upper GI bleeding. That was back in July. Nice, huh? I guess I'm all healed up by now, but they're so itchy to get that goddamn tube down my throat, snaking through my gut. At least I'll get the pleasure of napping with a little help from my friend Mr. Propofol. I remember the last endoscopy I had. I was so scared that they couldn't do the procedure unless my heart rate ...

Even Lola's tired of taking care of me. If there's one person I would never, ever live with, it would be...me. Well, maybe half of who I am, because I am a helluva' cook and I'm very nurturing, but the other half is one. pain. in. the. ass. Half the time, I'm up with insomnia or just in excruciating pain. As you know, I'm no stranger to doctors' offices, emergency rooms and hospitals. I'm one hot mess lately. Usually it requires some sort of assistance, like helping me out to the car to rush off to the ER or helping me even make it to the loo. Those are the extreme days. But, we married in health and in sickness. Somewhere right now, my wife is twitching. But I'm not so bad. I make Madelene laugh, I'm silly and immature as hell. I think that's what saves our relationship: laughter. Or maybe it's the dog. In any case, it's the little things in life that bring us joy. God, now I'm starting to sound like a Hallmark card. My point...