As a former co-worker said one Monday morning in the 70s, "I feel like Ray Milland."
No, I haven't been on a drinking binge. No bender. No toot. No spree.
It's been a surreal, time-warping, marathon journey of doctor's offices, pharmacies, and Web M.D. browsing, one neurotic day blurring into another. (If it's Friday, this must be CT-scan.)
The good news is that my innards are fine now. Having already had several -ectomies, my medical conundrum was simplified somewhat. The really terrifying and horribly icky hypotheses were disproved on Friday.
And now, after taking a cocktail of antibiotics with a lovely menu of side effects (metallic taste, leg cramps, dizziness, nausea), I'm back among the optimistic and living.
So much so that my son's $125 speeding ticket last night barely moved the needle on my stress meter.
My free advice to everyone: Eat your fiber and drink your water.
This means you.
P.S. It really helps to have a compassionate and good-humored co-pilot at these times. Thanks, Steve.
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