Hope I Die Before I Get Old

I needed to get some blood work done. Nothing newsworthy. Just some routine tests. Typically, whenever I need to see a doctor (which is rarely, knock wood), I go on a Saturday morning because during the week I am preoccupied with trying to pay the mortgage. Today, however, I decided to remote into my desktop and work from home.

The weekday crowd in the doctor’s waiting room is not the same as the weekend crowd. It is similar to a casino crowd, with the M-F patrons being a bit older and slower than the weekenders. I am not accustom to being around sick people. I’m lucky that way. nursemyra and Nurse Heidi deserve to be canonized for helping people through an illness. I award myself the golden shithead award for being so uncomfortable around the old and sick.

Sitting in that waiting room today provided a sobering reminder of my (our) mortality. I was the youngest one in there by a few generations (and I’m not that young, remember). Of course, you would expect to see old, sick people in a medical waiting room but some of these people were visibly fucked up. Most were physically incapacitated and one was clearly having a psychological episode. The whole ordeal had a profound and lasting impact on me. I hope this doesn’t lead to a religious epiphany or anything tacky like that.

When I got home, 2-Year Old Daughter ran across the room and wrapped her arms around my leg. “Daddy home!” Therein lies the antidote for my poisonous thoughts.

* * *

You can learn a lot by working from home for a day. I came out of the office at 2:30 to make a cup of tea and you’ll never guess what I came across; Mrs. Wife was having a little snooze. 6-Year Old Daughter was in school and 2-Year Old Daughter was having her afternoon nap. Mrs. Wife was wrapped in a blankee on the living room sofa all roasty-toasty warm. Asleep. At 2:30 in the afternoon. Typically, at that time of day, I am fighting corporate demons. No big deal. I’m just sayin’.

* * *

Here’s the best line from Jon Caramanica’s New York Times review of the Celine Dion concert at Madison Square Garden:

“Her outfits were, invariably, sparkly, as if she had just lathered herself in glue and rolled around on crushed mirrors.”

dion.000

 

12 thoughts on “Hope I Die Before I Get Old

  1. Yeah my mom does the same thing. Wakes up at 10. Shops, visits folks and moans that she’s tired. But I suppose manual labour is more tiring than sitting behind your PC.

  2. I feel the need to defend myself. I’m still a bit jetlagged and thought a half hour rest would be better than falling asleep while driving the kids around town. Perhaps if I had spent the day hanging out with friends I wouldn’t have been so tired. They require less energy than a 2 year old.

  3. Dude,I once griped on my blog about how shitty it is getting old. But then I was reminded (rebuked) by a fellow young widowed that “It’s better than the alternative.”Celine Dion: One of the best things we ever did was export that mess to the US. I once heard a funny that Quebec had named a road after Celine Dion.The road was long and narrow, with sharp shoulders and no curves.Rob

  4. Her outfits were, invariably, sparkly, as if she had just lathered herself in glue and rolled around on crushed mirrors.I had a dream like that, only it wasn’t glue, it was some kind of syrup, and the crushed mirrors were powdered sugar and chocolate chips. And Celine Dion was Janeane Garofalo.Other than that, same thing.

  5. I was just going to give props to Mrs Wife for grabbing some shuteye when she can (having had the “when do you rest?” conversation with her just a few days ago), but I see she’s more than capable of standing up for herself. You go.And you are SO lucky to be able to get weekend Dr appointments … unheard of over here (and also not available at my GP in NYC way back when).My fave Dion-ism: Oh Celine, why the long face?

  6. I always wonder whether people get uncomfortable around the sick and old…I have the same issue…I cannot decide whether it’s because I don’t want to be reminded of what the 4th quarter of my life might be, or if it’s because I still think like a ten-year old and all the discomfort, the deep-throated gargling, coughing, et cetera is, like, gross. It’s an odd coincidence, because I’m pretty sure the guy in the office next to mine is dying, our in-house illustrator. He hacks up about 20-30 times a day, and for the first month it drove me nuts. Then I looked up his pic on our office director and saw he had a full head of hair in that, and I felt really dumb for being so petty.

  7. there’s another way to look at those waiting rooms….for 5 days a week, 6 weeks, i had the pleasure of going to radiation therapy for the early stage cancer nugget in the breastage. i picked the first appointment of the day – offices aren’t usually behind to start, and i wanted to continue working throughout. i was the youngest person there. i was the healthiest person there – with many ‘radiatees’ coming in after finishing a round or two of chem, i also had the most hair.never complained about radiation. no matter how tired i was toward the end. count your blessings, mr. banishment. i’m sure there are at least three! and know that we’re all one phone call away from daytine nightmares…

  8. Where I used to live in the States not only did we have Saturday hours at the clinic but Sunday as well and an after hours clinic.In Canada? Don’t get sick on the weekend because the walk in clinic on Monday is disgusting and you will bring home more than you came in with.I don’t nap myself but my husband thinks my day to day is the stuff of Hollywood wives (who don’t have dishwashing machines either).

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