Again With The Doctors

 So D2 had noticed a mole on my arm, and didn't like the looks of it. Sure enough, it was a basal cell cancer -- the kind that likely won't kill you, but needs a big extraction if you let it grow. So man crush Dr. Green biopsied it, and I was set for removal yesterday, but by a young colleague who goes by Dr. Zand, as she has a hard to pronounce Persian last name.

I got in all my dark humor telling everyone that I was scheduled later in the day for "Cancer surgery," which is technically is, but the Little League version. I arrived early, as usual, and the lovely PA was training a new staffer - would I mind if they used me as a guinea pig? Not at all. I infused the session with humor, and the PA said "Not all the patients are as nice as funny as Mr. A." But I figured I'd give the young Jamaican background beauty queen a nice welcome.

And she was a beauty queen -- everyone who works at that office is noticeably attractive. As my late Mom said when she learned that lithe D1 was becoming a dietitian: "Well she looks the part. Who wants to get eating advice from a fat horse?" And so it is with cosmetic practices -- the patients want to aspire to look like the staff. Not me -- I joked that Mike and I (who I referred) are the outliers -- guys who just want skin cancers detected and removed -- no Botox for us.

Dr. Zand came in, and she was MAYBE 30 -- a year out of Residency at UF, after 8 years at UM. She's from Louisville, and of Persian extraction, and LOVES Miami. She took about 20 minutes to whack off the mole, stitch it up, and tell me to return in 2 weeks for suture removal. Easy, peasey -- and I figured if the incision hurt, it would take my attention from my knee pain, though now a week later that's eased, too.

And so it goes, as Vonnegut said. Everything passes as we live. I happen to be ebullient these days -- resolving some issues that kept me blind, to borrow from the great Johnny Nash song. And I know the ebullience shall pass, and there'll be melancholy, and that will pass, too. The Ds joke the melancholy is good for me -- I lose weight during those times. Nah -- rather be fat and happy, literally.

Wifey and I were getting bored watching the George Clooney play about Edward Murrow -- probably was good live -- on TV just a lot of talking and yelling about Commies. And then around 9, I got a call from my old friend John -- the retired CIA guy whose book was finished filming and will premiere as a series this Fall.

We talked for 1.5 hours, and it was delightful. He's so brilliant and insightful, and while I was bored in law school, he was driving out of the Green Zone in Baghdad, trying to not get shot. He had attended our 45th high school reunion, after I warned him how boring the 20th was, and I had sworn off future gatherings. He told me how right I was -- other than a few old friends -- he realized that just because you sat next to someone in Social Studies half a century past, it doesn't mean you really need to catch up with their lives -- especially in our blue collar Long Island town, where most of the lives changed little since high school -- except for marriages and divorces and kids and grandkids, of course.

John's a film buff, and told me he was headed to NYC in August for the premiere of an older Roman Polanski film -- about the Dreyfuss Affair. It couldn't play earlier on account of the whole Me, Too thing, since Polanski, well, was a little rapey back in the day, and can't return to the US. We talked about today's standards, like what Epstein and P Diddy did - - Polanski was a regular RoseMary's baby in comparison -- but still...

He wanted to hear about the Ds and grandsons -- that path was not for him -- his wife Barbara was always an international worker, and sadly has been down with bad MS for a long time. John is SO devoted to her -- visits daily -- and I really wish peace for him and Barbara.

And we DID have some grand times growing up on that Isle of Long...

Today I'm headed to the bank to make the final deposit into my life insurance trust, to pay the last premium on the last life insurance policy I have. Old friend Rob convinced me to buy the one whole life policy 29 years ago -- while most of the coverage I had was term. I let the term lapse when we no longer needed my income to raise the Ds, and my fantasy of hiring an absurdly hot au pair should Wifey have prematurely left never turned real.

The whole life would pay $175K if I don't make it to next July 18. If I do, I get a premium refund of $77K -- either way -- Wifey wins. I sure hope we get the smaller amount.

But it's funny when annual bills pop up -- for me they're mileposts in life. I think back to 1996 when I took out the policy -- young, dumb, and full of ambition. Paul and my law firm was 2, and we were working day and night to build our practice. The Ds were 4 and 7, and we were living in our post Andrew reconstructed house. I was driving a Jaguar, the better to impress clients and opposing counsel. Wifey was struggling with some mental health issues, but we were, in general MUY happy.

Fast forward -- now I drive an SUV, we live in Villa Wifey, and the Ds are grown ass women -- hell -- D1 is not too far from middle age, though she perishes that thought.

And we have the Little Man and Baby Man and they bring us the joy we may have dreamed about those 3 decades ago.

So I'm happy to have paid these premiums -- and hope to NOT have Wifey collect the claim. And keep those doctors at bay...