My mother never let me have a goldfish. Maybe that’s why I’m so fascinated by the array of fish swimming in the well-appointed aquarium in my doctor’s waiting room. I guess watching fish is supposed to be relaxing. With any luck my blood pressure is dropping already. Actually I think I’m having a sinking spell.
The fish appear to have different personalities. Fishalities? You know what I mean. One is a bully. One has learned how to squeeze through the grotto. Wow! Even as we speak it just emerged from behind it with something like a stick in its mouth -- like a dog.
Splash! That bully must have tried to jump out. I missed it. He made waves.
None of them look happy. That’s a fish for you.
Fish may be the theme for my day today. I’ve promised a down-in-her-back friend that I’ll clean the clogged filter in her backyard fishpond, where her elusive gold carp, Lazarus by name, swims around under the lily pads. Other friends have brought her food, watered her flowers and done other nice things for her. But she’s chosen me to clean the yucky filter. I think that means I’m her best friend.
Sticking with the fish theme, maybe that’s what’s for supper. Not Lazarus.
My doctor’s office also has a lot of nice framed posters and maps on the wall. Most are from France. All of them are about wine. Makes me think of that catchy and meaningful country song that begins “I’m gonna hire a wino to decorate our home ….”
Even the bottles of free drinking water are in a wine-cooling refrigerator. I think maybe I’ll drink one.
On second thought, I don’t want to add to my weight. I’ve been dieting for three days because of this annual appointment. I’m like a fighter trying to drop to the next-lowest weight class. No water for me.
Hmmm. I think I’ll ask my wine-oriented doctor if she wants to go to France with me to pick grapes. My husband is always telling me to find someone besides him to make the harvest – faire le vendange. At my age, what would be more prudent than having my physician along in case I get overheated in Provence or eat too many grapes in Alsace or tumble off a terrace somewhere along the Rhine?
THEY’RE CALLING MY NAME.
All my fears about getting sent straight to the hospital for emergency bypass surgery just vanished. The doctor can’t see me today because I let the wrong lab take my blood. Wrong Suite 200.
Something tells me I need to get my act together but so does this medical complex. Two Suite 200 labs is one too many.
If I hadn’t had a cup of coffee, albeit with creamer, right after the bloodletting, I could let them draw some fresh cubic centimeters right now. But my bloodstream is already polluted for the day.
This unexpected reprieve gives me a few more days to shun cholesterol. Oh joy.