Today has been what the pros would call a “total loss.”
Whatever I picked up on New Year’s Eve has manifested itself by coughing, dripping and miserable lethargy.
And even worse?
I can’t eat anything. I have to go the whole day on clear liquids. For a big treat I can have yellow or orange jello. Yippee!
Last September, during my annual physical, the Doctor signed me up for a mammogram. OK – fine – getting the tits ironed is no big deal. All the cool girls do it eventually.
But then we had a discussion that went like this:
“You could have the sigma scope” (all spelling here is approximate) “inserted in your throat. That would clear you for five years.” The Doctor sees my face and continues, “Or…”
“Or, what?” I snap, thinking that the sigma scope sounds disgusting.
“Or we can do a colonoscopy (once again with the approximate spelling)”, the Dr tells me. “We’d knock you out. Then you won’t need to repeat the test for ten years.”
Asscamera and ten it is then, with a side of drugs.
Later tonight I get to drink something called “bowel prep” or as I have labeled it “poo juice.”
Can’t you just imagine how charming I will be by 8p this evening? The mind boggles…
Mr. Wonderful, last seen when he would not go out to dinner on New Years Eve, gets to 1) live through tonight if he stays far, far away from me and 2) take the day off work to drive me to the Doctor and back.
Boy Howdie do I plan on being miserable to him. And you know we’re going out to eat to make it all up to me. Real soon, after the asscamera.
For better or for worse, bud. A deal is a deal.