This Might Sting A Little

ONE OF THE COOL THINGS about the world-wide-web is the ability to google medical stuff and diagnose your own maladies. And I'm sure doctors love it when I go to the office and start the conversation with, "I Googled my symptoms and..."

Say what you will, I love being able to get a second opinion for free. Here's an example. A recent bit of online research yielded this bit of wisdom from a doctor I trust a great deal:

When at last we are sure
You've been properly pilled,
Then a few paper forms
Must be properly filled,
So that you and your heirs
May be properly billed.

--Dr. Seuss

This is highly relevant to my world the past few weeks, all leading up to tomorrow's big event.

First let me say this: Some kinds of bragging I celebrate, like Kevin Durant talking about his teammates, or parents and grandparents sharing pictures and the exploits of the kids. (Here's an excellent example)

The Grand-Girls. I'm not sure even the flowers are as lovely--but that's just me.

There are some kinds of bragging that further turn my messed up belly, like: people trying to impress you with how busy and significant they are by telling you how many emails they have in their inbox. Or, those who want to talk about how many surgical procedures they've endured, which inevitably includes a Show & Tell for each of their scars. Unfortunately, this kind of stuff is a staple for conversation of us mature adults.

That said--a couple of weeks ago after a few days of stomach uneasiness, my gall bladder attacked me. I went to the ER where this pretty little girl, that I'm guessing was 15 or so, squirted some kind of jelly all over my stomach and then rubbed a probe all over, like she was hunting for coins at the beach with a metal detector.

The doctor studied images from her procedure on the monitor. They looked something like a Rorschach test. "It's time for you and your gall bladder to part company," said the Doctor.

I wanted to argue; we've been through so much together. But this sucker had betrayed me, and I realized that if I said, "No thanks, Doc, I'll keep it," it would only be the drugs talking.

So tomorrow, one of those spare parts that only God knows why He put in the mix, like tonsils and appendixes, is coming out. 

Remind me next time we meet and I'll show you the scar. ;-)