The Hypochondriac

So I don't go through life as a hypochondriac, but when I do get a real health condition, my mind goes to the blackest of outcomes. This week, that was literally true.

I saw an eye doc last week, who diagnosed a retinal tear, and zapped it closed via laser surgery. I went home, and the flashes of light I was seeing that caused me to check my eyes were gone, but the floaters had increased -- clear bubble looking things that appear in my vision and sort of sweep through the field.

That's it, I decided. The laser repair actually detached my retina, and did it so badly that I was going to lose the vision, and, when the eye died, the eyeball as well. I was already starting to consider whether I wanted a different color glass eye replacement, so at least in my disabled state I would look David Bowie-like...

So I went through my weekly routine, internalizing the anxiety of being a one eyed man. Each floater brought me closer to that dark end.

But then yesterday I saw the brilliant young Dr. Schimel. I greeted him with a hearty "Go Blue!" as he did his undergrad work at Michigan, and they are in the Sweet 16. He read over the scans, and examined me, and proclaimed I was doing great -- the laser repair was 80% healed, and would completely heal within a month.  What about the floaters? They ought to go away, or diminish during the coming months, but as long as they didn't get MUCH worse, they were of no real concern. I see him again in July.

I was ecstatic for myself, but there was still sadness to the day. Edna's mother Miriam had died, and the funeral was taking place in Hollywood. I had explained to her about the eye doc, and she encouraged me to not miss it.

Wifey called, and said they were going to lunch at Anthony's Runway 84. I didn't know they were open for lunch -- they were. Edna, Marc, daughter Erica, Wifey, and I were next to the only ones there -- a scary looking older dude with a younger woman was hunkered down at a back table and looked wildly annoyed as we walked through the place, showing it to Edna and Marc.

After lunch, Wifey and Edna drove Marc and Erica to FLL -- Edna will stay a few days with us. I was driving in I-95 traffic, and felt like an adult beverage. I called Barry.

The tradition of my baiting him into playing hooky is now nearly 4 decades old. He'd have to study for Organic Chem, or something, and I would convince him to attend a Canes baseball game with me. From there, it was off to D'Pizza, and then Baskin Robbins -- in Spring they had our favorite flavor, Baseball Nut.

He was ultimately no worse for the wear -- he got into med school easily, and nothing much has changed.

We agreed to meet at Soyka, to avoid the Downtown traffic. I called Wifey -- she and Edna thought Soyka with two studly guys was better than the Jackson's Ice Cream they were headed for.

All 4 of us met. Barry and I had some cocktails. Edna and Wifey ordered dessert at the bar. We talked of life -- grown kids, and aging and passing parents. It was delightful.

On the way home, I spoke to D2. We're planning a visit to NYC mid April. I told D2 I was thrilled to be able to go with 2 good eyes. Why, she asked. I shared with her my hypochondriac thoughts.

I told her I must have gotten it from her -- she is exactly the same way. No, she corrected -- she got it from ME.

I apologized for passing down my family's various and sundry forms of anxiety. We don't drink that much, or smoke dope, like Hank Williams, Junior. Anxiety is our family tradition.

So I'm thrilled it was another worry for nothing.  As I told Barry -- we HAD to have a toast -- I cheated blindness!

Not really. But the drinks were terrific, anyway.