Hole in the Head
Sugar, my trophy wife, is a very positive person. She is cheerful most of the time. She has, I often say, the gift of enthusiasm. I usually appreciate her encouragement, but sometimes I want to feel sorry for myself.
Yesterday was my annual physical. Being such a fine physical specimen, I have a feeling that my visit to the office is a treat for all the nurses. I don’t know why I have to take my clothes off to have my blood pressure taken nor why it has to be taken five times by five different nurses, but I go along.
Dr. Murphy praised me for losing 25 pounds since 2009. Slow but sure. At that rate, I will still be above 200 lbs in five more years. I am, even now, dangerously skinny for an NFL linebacker. I might have to become a kicker.
The one thing that I do not look forward to as part of a complete physical is the part when Dr. Murphy puts on his rubber glove. The first time I got a big boy physical, it was performed by Dr. Engdahl, who attended the same church as my family and whose daughter, a cheerleader, was in my class. A stranger might have been easier for me to tolerate. As Dr. Engdahl invaded my privacy, I told him, “Doc, I don’t like this,” and as he continued, I repeated, “I REALLY don’t like this!” Dr. Engdahl validated my opinion. “I’d be worried if you did like it.” I still don’t like it. One year I talked Dr. Murphy out of it. I persuasively argued that blood test ought to identify if I have prostate problems, which I don’t. This year I was not as persuasive.
Sugar waited for me in the car. I came out with a referral to a skin doctor to look at some sun damage to skin on my face. Every cowboy, lifeguard, swimmer, tennis player has sun damage to his skin. Still, I was sent to have it looked at.
Well, that skin doctor did more than look. First an assistant examined me. I had to take my shirt off for her to get a good look at the spot on my face, apparently. But, like I said, I am used to that sort of thing. She then called in the reinforcements, and the doctor himself was called into the room. He told his assistant to take a biopsy and chickened out himself, leaving the room. So the assistant and another lady were in the room helping each other cut into my face after shooting something into the spot to numb it. I am so tough that I did not need the shot, but they did not ask. I was still shirtless when a third woman came into the room. Like I said, I am used to women gawking when I take my shirt off.
The third one said, “Your wife or daughter wants to come into the room.” So Sugar joined the crowd. She is very territorial. I am not sure why she came in, but perhaps she heard the women of the office whispering about my lack of a shirt. Anyway, she busted in just as they were patching me up. I left with a bandage thing covering the site of “the procedure.”
On the way home, Sugar was still happy that the one office lady wondered if she was my daughter. (I invite you to look at the ABOUT page to scrutinize photos of the two of us to determine if you agree that she could be mistaken as my daughter, which insulted me, injuring my pride in my own youthful good looks). It was my mistake to tell Sugar that is what that lady said when she asked the physician’s assistant if she could come in. Naturally, that put Sugar in an even better mood.
Sugar said, “What a beautiful day it has been. Did you have fun?”
“Sugar,” I said, recounting the day, “I was violated by Dr. Murphy in the morning, had a lovely lunch with those folks from the volunteer fire department, then went and let the ladies at the skin doctor’s office dig a hole in my head. Does that seem to you like it would be fun for me?”
Sugar just laughed. So I told her about my conversation with Dr. Engdahl. She suggested I write a blog about it.