“Jerry. He’s a GUY.”
When we last met, I was formulating a plan to trick my mom’s unsuspecting yet highly professional and competent doctor to accept me as a new patient. I spent two days practicing the request:
So… The website says that you’re not accepting new patients, but I don’t know if it’s up to you … If it’s up to you … I was hoping that … I was wondering if … I wanted to know if you could would take me as a patient because I need a new primary care physician. I’ve seen two other doctors here recently and I hated them and they were awful did they go to medical school online or what? they weren’t a good fit for me.”
How the conversation actually went:
Me: The website says that you’re not accepting new patients, but …
Doctor: I’m not accepting new patients in general, but I do take referrals from current patients or friends or family. Do you need a new doctor?
Me [weeping]: YES!
Doctor: I would love to be your doctor!
Me: ZOMG I WOULD LOVE FOR YOU TO BE MY DOCTOR!!!
I told her briefly what was going on with me ill-health-wise, and she ordered lab tests right then and there and had her nurse make an appointment for me. So that’s the good news. The bad news is that after my lab results came back, her nurse called and said I need to have a CT scan. It still could turn out to be nothing, but I’m not going to assume that it’s nothing because when you do that the Fates go, “oh? Confident are we?” and then consult WebMD (because everyone does) to find the rarest, most painful, least curable ailment to give you. So instead I have spent the weekend freaking out about my upcoming obviously positive (by which I mean negative) scan results and trying to get rid of all the embarrassing items I have in my house so that in six months, my family won’t be in my house in their funeral clothes wondering why I have Nancy Drew video games.
“CT scans used to be called CAT scans, and I like cats, so how could it turn out badly?”
– A thought I actually had this weekend.
Seeing as how the end is no doubt near, I was thinking I should have a bucket list, even though “bucket list” is a stupid term. Also, there aren’t that many things I want to do. There’s a lot of traveling I’d like to do, but I sense that if I were on my last legs, getting felt up by a TSA agent would lose a lot of its charm. Besides, I have a vague idea that Cher in the movie Mask got it right when she was removing pushpins from the world map belonging to her recently deceased son Rocky and saying, “now you can go anywhere you want, baby.” On the other hand, I don’t know that I particularly want to spend even a portion of eternity staying in youth hostels and listening to Bob Seger with a giant-headed Eric Stoltz.
Then I thought that instead I should make a list of things I’d never do again if I knew I were going to die. But all I could come up with were things like “check my tire pressure” and “clean the gutters” and since I almost never do those things anyway, there’s really no point in writing them down. I guess some people would say they’d never floss their teeth or do laundry again, but that’s gross. Even if you’re terminal, you still have to have standards.
But still, I feel like I should make some kind of list. Therefore:
Things I Won’t Miss When I’m, You Know, Dead
1. That Cottonelle commercial where Mom, Dad, and teenage daughter give various tasteless names to the process by which a person uses toilet paper and then follows up with an adult version of a baby wipe. In the first place, some of that process is unnecessary, and in the second place, I really don’t want to hear about how someone is “crackalackin’ clean” or whatever.
2. Pigeons. I feel bad about this one because I try to love all (non-human) creatures, but honestly, I won’t miss pigeons.
3. Making lists.
5. People who use the euphemism, “shut the front door!” Or “fricken.” “Farging” is okay, but other than “farging,” you should just fucking say it.