Wednesday, February 9, 2011

God's Waiting Room

Well, it turns out that recent tests and scans have ruled out a cancerous mass on my adrenal gland, so it looks like something else will kill me first.

That's a line I've heard before. First with my dad when he was diagnosed with prostate cancer 10, no 15 years, um, a hell of a long time ago. With radiation and monitoring and pills and shots, the cancer would be under control for a long time. He was told that he would no doubt die of something else first. He's still among the living, I'm happy to say.

I, on the other hand, have NO idea what is going on with me. I've spent far too much time in labs, waiting, being stuck, driving. Far too much time in doctors' offices, driving, waiting, listening, waiting, paying up, and driving again. And there's the peeing in cups and jars and whatever. I can't imagine having one of those paying jobs and trying to take time off for all of this.

I'm damn tired of it. It looks like I've been narrowed down to a potassium-deficient patient for the time being. I don't know which syndrome can be applied to me yet. That might be determined in my drive, wait, appointment, drive, next week that will take up half a day.

But for heaven's sake, this time I will take a book! Ain't much good reading in God's waiting room. Once I strike up a conversation with the 80+ group, I often live to regret it. Not that that age group has nothing to offer. I'm not saying that. But sometimes you just want the conversation to end, and it doesn't. If I don't have a book, I will do my best to stare at the ceiling and avoid the magazines.

First, there's that germ thing. I'm not much of a germaphobe, but I'm going to fret a bit if I pick up a pre-moistened magazine. The 80+ set still believes its fine to lick their thumbs before turning a page. And the choices! Golf Magazine. No. Arthritis today. Not yet, thanks. And my personal fave -- Civil War Times. What the hell?!? Them times is over, right? At least north of the Mason-Dixon line. For heaven's sake, we need to acknowledge all of our horrible mistakes and move on. Not make a glossy magazine out of the damn war.

And you would think I'd feel young sitting among this group. No. I seem to blend right on in. I somehow went from early middle age and ended up on the Osteoporosis Show. Well, I'm not on the show quite yet. I'm in the green room waiting to be called in. And the green room is full of stale danishes and crappy periodicals.

1 comment:

  1. I shudder to think of what sorts of germs are on a pre-moistened copy of Civil War Times.

    That there might just be the thing to kill you.
    Be careful!