Getting In Touch With Your Mortality

It’s official … I’m terminal.

When we got home yesterday at 12:30 I called the doctor to plead for mercy … no … to plead for help to remove all the uric acid from my body which is apparently overflowing with the stuff and it’s all settled in my left foot. I briefly considered standing on my head but the possibility of it draining into my brain caused me to pause and consider the benefits of that. There weren’t any, so, I didn’t do it.

It was 12:32 when I finally called the doc but they weren’t there … they go to lunch at 12:30 and don’t get back until 2:00. What a deal. This delay required me to sit on the couch, writhing in pain, until they returned. During that time I made a VA appointment for my annual diabetic retinopathy checkup. I was able to complete that appointment just in time to call the doctor’s office at 2:00.

Brenda answered the phone, as she almost always does. Like all really good receptionists, she knew me immediately because I used to visit the office on a regular basis to repair all my nicks and ding over the years. And, I take her coffee once in a while. Actually, I took Dutch Brothers coffee to the entire clinic one time. I was very popular for a few minutes.

Brenda squeezed me in for a 4:15 appointment with the new doctor, Sharon L., because my old doctor, Janet K., retired and sold her practice. One time I got a huge sliver in my arm and videoed Dr. K. removing it, as well as our conversation during the process. That was a fun time. Dr. L. retained all the nurses and semi-doctors so the only change at the office was ownership. It was she, Dr. L., whom I saw. I like her. She prescribed the necessary drugs to make me comfortable until the end. I had to go to the lab, too, so they could drain off some excess blood and look at it to see about the uric acid, among other things. At that time I posed the question about how long she thought I had. Stopping a moment to think, she hung her head a bit in a telling manner, then told me I probably only had about 30 years left, maximum.

I was stunned! Flabbergasted! Etc.! I was really hoping to make it to 100, but she cut me off 2 years short. Now I need to start getting my things in order because at my age 30 years will fly by in an instant since I plan to sleep during a large portion of it.

Since my prognosis is that I will retain almost full use of my left foot, if I’m good and don’t walk on it much for a while, I’m relegated to sitting on the couch with my feet propped up, pointed at our excessively large TV set. Within the area of my vision, without turning my head, I see Ozzie laying on his old flat pillow, his favorite, which was placed on the new pet hammock Diane bought him from Groupon. He wasn’t sure about it at first because his dog tag clanged against the metal tubing that hold the sleeping area about 6 inches above the floor. That’s chin high for him. After a couple of training sessions, he’s OK with it now.

As I sit here all the things of concern are running through my little brain like a shopping list … the leaky faucet in the tub, the future home of our fire pit over the septic tank, the dirt I must move to flatten the area for the fire pit, the ditch I need to finalize by the garage to keep the driveway from flooding when it rains, the old roof, the Subaru air conditioner that leaks, my messy shop, the pool table that needs to be reconstructed, half the garage that’s full of “stuff” we probably don’t need (except for the player piano which I’m really going to restore one of these days), the book I’m going to write, the thousands of pictures I need to sort through, the clothes in my closet I rarely wear that take up space causing wrinkles in the clothes I do wear, golf, the yard, hedges that need trimming, trees that need to be chopped down and turned into firewood for the fire pit … stuff like that.

After going over all that I’m a little depressed so I’m going to take a cymbalta and try to access some more uplifting things to think about.

2 thoughts on “Getting In Touch With Your Mortality

  1. Should have called me…your brother left all the gout drugs behind!!! Shall I keep them until you come in October?

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