So it's doctor season for me, as I wallow in the early part of old age, which some sage writer said about being 60. I typically see my internist in December for my "executive physical," which the MDVIP company offers -- they take 7 vials of blood and the doc tells you details like not just your cholesterol, but how much of it "clumps." Dr. Eric, my brilliant, Harvard trained friend, says a lot of it is bullshit.
This year I learned that my long time doc is retiring in January. She replaced my friend and prior long time doc David, who used to give us free MDVIP tuition in exchange for my helping him with legal matters. Truth is, I was sort of looking for an excuse to avoid paying the now $2K per year, and this will be my exit -- to Adam, a friend since Middle School of D1's, who has a practice in the Gables.
Last night I called my SECOND eye doc, the one who treats me for increased eye pressure, since I developed a nasty case of pink eye following a cold the French/Spaniards were nice enough to give me as a parting gift -- but wondered whether it WAS pink eye or a reaction to the pressure drops I've been taking. Dr. Matthew, more charming and better looking than Hugh Grant, though he's South African and not English, called around 9 and said it indeed sounded like pink eye, and they no longer recommended antibiotic drops. Even bacterial pink eye goes away on its own -- but he did tell me to take antihistamine drops to alleviate the symptoms, which I picked up on my way home from the long blood draw.
Monday am I see Dr. Bob, my urologist, for that annual exam. Covid was indeed a blessing -- I avoided seeing him and his dreaded enormous finger for 2 years, using telehealth instead, but I guess he missed my uniquely handsome prostate so much, and wants me in person. Oh boy.
The following Monday I see the dentist, and then the aforementioned handsome eye doc. Enough already!
Still, the alternative is far worse -- exemplified by our friend in Boston's boyfriend who is awaiting placement in a nursing home following a devastating stroke -- and he's 67. But he had it coming -- amazing shape, ate healthy, and played a LOT of golf. When the bell tolls, the ringer doesn't seem to care too much about diet and exercise.
There IS a big disappointment, though. I miss my grandsons a lot, and the resolving pinkeye will keep me away from seeing them this weekend. Ain't nobody got time for a 4 month old getting it. So I'll steal up to NE Miami during next week, and maybe fetch the adorable toddler from pre school and spend some quality time with him and his baby brother. And before long -- big T Day here at Villa Wifey. My most favorite time of the year.
So I had a noon appointment with our lawyer today -- prep for future depos on our fee dispute case -- but I switched it to a Zoom. I emailed my lawyer that my doc said I should only see in person people I REALLY don't like -- at least until Sunday. He was relieved I wasn't bringing my eye virus or bacteria to his office.
So age marches on. On the France trip, Dr. Kenny had a hilarious line. We were talking about marrying should the Grim Reaper take one of our spouses, and I said I would opt instead for friends with benefits. "What benefit -- like making soup?" As usual, he has a firm grasp of the human condition.
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