Thug Life

I have been more ill this year than any other year of my life…ok, maybe not, but it seems like it.  So, when I started feeling like there was a two-ton truck on my chest, I knew I was in trouble.  I was further alarmed when Alissa and Geof sent me home.  I know…

So, I have had many an issue finding a doctor I like.  The one we’ve had my entire life, left the family practice to be an ER doctor, (Lame) and then his replacement was killed in a car wreck (RIP).  So, I finally find one I like.  Her name is Patti May.  She’s great.  I arrive at Grace Clinic (which is a great design, by the way) and I am taken back to Dr. May’s area.  This is where the trouble began.  I am seated across from a lady in her…late 50′s.  She has on a jumper, but also fish nets and red patent leather penny loafers.  I don’t even know where she found shoes like that.  She is on the phone talking NON-STOP.  No lie.  She didn’t even take a breath…one time.  But she sounded just like Barbara Walters.  She didn’t pronounce her r’s…and there was a slight lisp.  I tend to cough because every cold/flu/sinus thing goes straight to my chest.  As I’m sitting there reading my Chelsea Handler book, I notice every time I cough, the Barbara Walters across from me coughs and really plays it up.  So, I decide to have fun with it.  I cough, she coughs.  I make it a big cough, she makes it a bigger cough with a sigh.  I cough and snort, she coughs, snorts and then wipes tears.  I was getting beaten at my own game.  So, I try and pull out the mother of all coughs.  I felt this one from the depths of my soul.  It came from deep within.  I release the deepest, loudest cough ever.  I’m sure that I coughed out an organ.  Like my spleen or something not important.  I smile and bask in my victory.  Babs couldn’t top that.