My (Social) Medical Life

I don’t have a social life, I have a medical life. No time for lunch with Mary, who looks to me for encouragement and how flattering is that?—to hear what she’s writing. Too bad, Mary. I’ve got a toothache. A physical therapy appointment. Maybe a vision ‘field test’ where I spot the stars around the edges of my eyeballs.

No time for a good Yoga workout on the soft living room rug, the most perfect mat ever invented, so my abs are flabs. My knees are stiff and I really should stretch because most of my joints are like cement from rheumatoid arthritis. My teeth are rotting in my head, in spite of my obsessive brushing, flossing and rubber tipping, not to mention thrice-a-year ‘periodontal visits’. I don’t even try to find a dental insurance plan that would cover my $1,500 REroot canal—Oww, man, this sucker is just under my cheekbone. Maybe the endo could go down from my eyelid.

But no, endo must go up through the original, expensive crown. Gaaa! The why details are too gruesome to think about. Oh, did I mention my slightly too-high blood pressure? My hair is falling out. On top, in front where it shows.

Body maintenance. I am an old house. Speaking of houses, didn’t I just clean that range hood last week, okay, two weeks, and it’s sticky again. Darling little dustbunnies are swirling like tiny tornados along the edge of my bedroom.

Let’s not go into my terrible cooking. I’m soooo bored with my one chicken, one burger, one spaghetti menu that last night we ate take-out meatloaf and it was not only delicious but better than anything I can or would make. Better than any hot tray at Home Buffet. This is not just the winter of my discontent, this is a new nadir of my gourmet image. I used to chop the peppers for chile and stuff the organic chicken and spend an hour on an authentic ragu. Huh.

Could there be any silver lining in this cloud? How about this: Perhaps it’s cheaper to buy just the amount we need than to shop for the ingredients, pay the electric bill on the fridge, cook and clean up with gas, $$, and then have to eat the leftovers. Leftover salad, for instance, uh uh. Steak, possibly but old meat needs a lot of support. And with take-out, Jim can have what he wants and so can I.

Wrap it up. I’ll stop by on my way home from whatever doctors I’m visiting.