July 2012.
They thought I had cancer.
I can read people.
You can tell by the looks, you can tell by the tests,
You can tell by how they treat you at the doctor’s office.
I was considered – as a patient – almost as important as my insurance coverage.
Must be serious.
Meanwhile, the wife is walking around, tightly wound, slightly dazed,
thinking about being alone, thinking about what to do with my dog after I die.
My personal dog, who is much bigger than she is.
Hell, he’ll take my passing almost as badly as she will.
***
Good news. I don’t have cancer.
Dr. Muftah stuck a camera down my throat and another camera up my ass
and found zero tumors.
Damn, luckier than a Powerball winner. And more grateful.
Damn, I hope they used different cameras.
Have this image of laying there, skewered on a spit,
like a rotisserie.
I wore my good underwear.
I’ll be honest. I was more than a little scared.
I don’t want my dog to be left without me. Nor my wife.
They are both hard to handle.
And I am still a tad trepidatious…deep down.
I have a problem swallowing and I guess I have to hope stretching my esophagus is the solution.
Have to hope. I have to.
I am guessing I will know sooner than later.
After all, good health is just the slowest way to die.
I weigh less now than I did as a high school freshman.
That’s good, right?
I put off these tests until after I visited Las Vegas for the World Series Of Poker.
I saw somewhere only 8% of what we worry about comes true in a year.
I refuse to worry.
As I lay on the gurney, tubes sticking out of me like wires on an entertainment unit,
I was feeling short stacked. And – true story – I thought about poker.
I thought about Tree Top Strauss, who invented the concept of a “chip and a chair.”
Thought about never giving up.
Also thought about what is important in life.
Love. Fun. Music. Smooth skin. Fresh air. Good food…
I fasted for two days and drank sixty-four ounces of laxative. OMG!
Meanwhile, I am watching the Tour de France. Which seems far more difficult.
Or does it?