I'm Dying!

I was hoping to see the tall handsome Arabic doctor with the suede ankle boots who treated my husband in October. I even requested him but he was treating someone else when I arrived. He did see us later and stopped to say hello. This place is awesome I thought. All they need is (my) art on the huge gray walls.

I am listening to all of the great arias. Even when I was a kid I loved opera and would search for it, playing with the dial on my radio. I was convinced I was from another family. I also loved cabbage and beans and yogurt and potato knishes. Things not found at my house.

I was a true child of the shtetl. My mother called me the peasant, comparing my slightly wider foot and wrist to my sister's. And when I started baking and making yogurt, painting pictures, writing my dreams, sewing my clothes instead of chasing the boys and taking drugs and dressing like a whore like my sister she went berserk, focusing her neurotic laser on me until I ran away at age 15. Bob Dylan ran away, I thought. I can too. I ran away 3 times until it finally stuck.

I digress. 

Last time I had this tubercular cough was about 18 years ago and the doctor, fearing I had pneumonia, ordered a chest x-ray. He gave me Prednisone and I went to the moon seeing god, dancing and sleepless for a week, rapidly losing my mind and 10 pounds. I hated it. "I prefer to stay on Earth," I told the doctor. My mother would've been so happy to hear I was near death!

The bleached blonde medical assistant came in wearing dark blue scrubs that clashed with her glittery mauve nails. She pulled out a 6-foot-long Q-tip to use on my nose from across the room. A covid test. It tickled! I burst out laughing. This is how a child sees the world, a vaccination needle looks like a caulking gun. She thought I was hilarious. The test was negative. I knew it would be.

I often become a comedian in medical settings. My dentist once told me his daughter had sex inside the supermarket. I said, What aisle? My doc asked if an intern could come in during my gyn exam and I said sure, invite the whole waiting room.

So yesterday when the Urgent Care doctor prescribed Prednisone I explained what happened to me 18 years ago when I was first prescribed it. I saw god and visited the moon! I get it she said. So she prescribed an antibiotic for inflammation often used for COPD, Azithromycin for 5 days. When we came home my husband looked it up and said it's sold on Chewy for animals too. We could've visited our veterinarian.

I love the Urgent Care facility because their very friendly, work quickly, and don't make you undress and sit in a paper dress for a half hour. They talk to you and check you out while you're fully clothed.

I can't help thinking of my mother who was so thrilled and happy when I was sick and was unable to love me at any other time. She wanted a dying tubercular daughter so she could be the tragic hero. Perhaps this is why I love opera. She put me through scores of unnecessary surgery and therapies, usually during holidays and summer time for her satisfaction and convenience. And maybe this is why I hate vacations.

 If my mom were still alive I could say okay ma, here's your big chance! They gave me a chest X-Ray!

So I didn't get the handsome doctor with the suede boots who stopped by to say hello. I asked my husband, do you think we can invite him over for chicken soup? He could be our son. Why am I suddenly having Mrs Robinson fantasies on a regular basis, I said, laughing. I never fell in love this easily when everyone was my age.