Here I am cruising along in life, acting the pretty boy, telling myself I am young at heart and that gives me a fighting chance.
Until the last couple of months of last year.
And then - BOOM.
Pinched nerve in the neck. Or something quite like it, since the esteemed medical community cannot quite pin it down. Constant pain, no sleep. Nothing but guesses from the medical community as to what exactly is going on and how to deal with it.
High blood pressure. For some reason HBP freaks me out. Since they hit me with the vitals I keep expecting to explode. When I check it on my own at Rite Aid, in the company of the shuffling elderly, and it is sky high, I come home and sit in the recliner expecting a heart attack to take me out.
Although the physician's assistant did sooth me with the "high blood pressure kills over time" approach. That brought me down a little, so now when the BP is sky high I pour a triple shot of brown liquid in bold disdain.
Just kidding.
Yesterday I get my eyes checked out and walk out of there with a prescription for bifocals.
Jesus Christ I suddenly feel like I am 107.
To top it all off I was scheduled for an MRI this morning. I felt strangely calm since the appointment was made. I am not a guy who enjoys being cramped in small spaces unless I am standing up doing something illegal. But I was calm last night, I was calm getting there this morning.
Walked into the room and thought to myself "this ain't gonna be so bad." The machine did not look as intimidating as I expected. In fact it looked like there might be some elbow room in there.
The ladies told me all the pertinent stuff, and when I asked how long I would be in there they told me thirty minutes.
I wasn't expecting that. I thought ten, maybe fifteen minutes.
I laid down, they started to crank me in and that was it. I told myself to just keep my eyes shut and I would be all right. I was only in up to my waist, I opened my eyes and the ceiling of this thing was within inches of my face.
It had been approximately five seconds.
Let me out. Get me out. Now.
I freaked. Soiled my pants, fell to my knees sobbing like a red headed step child being beaten once again, I flailed my arms around and rotated my head like Linda Blair, wailing and gnashing my teeth.
Not really.
The ladies were quite soothing, telling me it happens all the time and there would be no charge. I can hear Carol sighing deeply in relief over the financial news.
But there is no getting around it. I felt like a loser. I was embarrassed. I could not believe I could not defeat this thing.
Again, I felt old. I felt weak.
I was pissed because I really want whatever info this evil contraption can deliver about my battered body. So that maybe, just maybe, the medical wizards can look me in the eye and say "We know exactly what is wrong with you and how we are going to relieve your pain."
Wishful thinking, I'm sure, regarding a group of people who would rather procreate with insurance and pharmaceutical companies than with genuine humans.
Typical conversation between a doctor and his wife after orgasm: Wife:"Wow that was mind blowing. Was it good for you?" doctor: "Yeah, definitely. Let me tell you about this new gimmick the insurance company came up with today, you wanna talk mind blowing."
I'm telling you right now I am never going near another MRI machine in my life.
Never.
It is freaky as heel, the ceiling of the thing even resembles the inside of a coffin. Kind of. Maybe.
I got to wondering who the hell would design a torture chamber like this. There has to be a better way to do this.
As I walked way in abject defeat, I looked back and saw, on the side of the machine, "Deluxe Marquis De Sade model." Complete with a computer generated signature.
I am feeling set upon. And more desperate every day. Closer to the edge.
Right now I blow up in my car, I yell in the bathroom, I punch things, I kick things. I clench my teeth a lot, I exhale slowly at those moments when I can keep from yelling. Always alone except for one incident at work.
Sooner or later I am going to be walking down the street muttering to myself and kidnapping baby carriages.
But I bought an elephant today. A Lucky Elephant. A tiny, metal elephant that I fell in love with and trust implicitly.
It came with this sentiment printed on a card:
"I have a lucky elephant and I want you to know, he's my good friend and companion wherever I may go.
His trunk is always pointed upwards and if ever I am stuck, he helps me get through anything, giving confidence and good luck.
You may think I'm superstitious and maybe you are right, but to have my little lucky elephant brings me nothing but delight."
A.S.Waldrop
He came with instructions: "This lucky little elephant may be carried in a pocket, held or placed on a shelf."
I am pretty sure things are about to turn around for me.
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