Christmas Symptom Countdown
It’s been a year since I retired. And now that the
pumpkins are packed away and Christmas is hovering just around the cranberry
sauce comes the season I anticipate all year.
The joyous season of “I’ve Met My Medical Insurance Deductible” is upon us.
The beginning of Advent marks the time allotted to visit all the doctors who have an interest in my health plan before New Year’s draws the curtain and the annual Rite of CoPay It Forward begins anew. It’s a lottery of how many doctors I can fit on my physical symptoms Bingo card before December ends and that mysterious rash goes unrequited. I count down with my Days of the Week pill caddy.
It seems like I’ve won the medical specialist lottery. These
days I collect professionals whose titles end in -ist like TikTok followers
collect new dance moves. I keep cardiologists in my contact list the way the
Kardashians keep cosmetologists. My days rotate around medical tests. The Cologuard
people send me flowers on my birthday and the local mortuary offered me a
discount on my final arrangements.
It wasn’t always this way. The second I lit that 60th
candle on my birthday Triple Decker Hot Fudge Chocolate Madness, my knee went
out, my heart skipped a beat, and the skin in my neck draped over my chest like
Spanish moss. I used to toot my own horn; now I can’t lift my knee without
banging my gong.
I’m not the type that revels in sickness to get extra
attention. I’d rather shave my legs with a cheese grater than have a
well-meaning Boy Scout help me across the street. If I want somebody who
worries about my every need, I’ll trade my cat for a Golden Retriever.
I’m the youngest sibling in my family. Now that we’re all
retired, our family potlucks have turned into a medical version of Rock, Paper,
Scissors. Neurologist beats Cardiologist,
Cardiologist takes out Orthopedist, Oncologist wipes out Neurologist. We swap
for medical supplies instead of gifts. Last year I got the grand prize. It was
an enema kit and a picture of George Clooney.
I can hardly wait for the results of my physical to let me
know what I can’t eat this year. Carbs are out, sugar is out, salt is out.
Maybe I’ll just go out.
Merry Christmas to all. With no side effects.
