But I met him in 1970 at Shorty’s Bar in Port A
Momo acompanied me to my primary doc today for the results of my physical a few weeks back: it’s best she drives, but I’ll explain all that later on.
I like my doc; he’s a young fellow who dresses nice, wears stylish shoes, and wears colorful socks, sort of like a younger version of myself. He immediately started in on the blood work results, which were amazing since I’m on the cusp of 77 years old. I had a few age-related glitches, and he wasn’t worried just yet. I asked him, “When is yet a problem?” He said he would let me know later. I told him my heart doctor said I had a real good chance of a major malfunction, but couldn’t tell me when that might happen. He said not to worry, it would be quick and painless. I also said I needed to lose 25 pounds, and could he put me on that Wegovy pill or the Ozempic shot all the movie folks are killing themselves with? He sidestepped that question. I said, “Jeeze, doc, I don’t want to look like Demi Moore or Oprah, I just need to lose a few pounds.” He said just stop eating and work out. ” That’s all fine, but I can’t work out; I’m disabled from a bad back surgery, and my body won’t cooperate, and Momo just bought a yummy French Vanilla Pound Cake with some Blue Bell Ice Cream: get the picture?
The young nurse was a bit too perky when she handed me the little notebook for the cognitive test. She said the instructions are a bit tricky. She was right, they were Ayatollah gibberish. I did the best I could, but failed with flying colors. All those numbers, words, little pictures of monkeys and fish and ice cream cones. Old folks don’t give one shit about any of that crap, so I was a miserable failure. I told him I re-learned to play the mandolin in six weeks and will be taking on the fiddle next week, so my brain can’t be that blocked up. He gave me a cute little Dr. Marcus Welby laugh and said he wants more blood and another cognitive test to see if I should be in some sort of home, or at home with Momo pulling me around in a wagon with a drool sponge taped to my chin. I asked him if I was smart enough to be president, and he said, “No, we’ve already been down that road.” As of yet, I haven’t left the truck keys in the freezer, burned down the shed, or dug up a natural gas line with my spade, so there is still hope. Old folks remember what they want to and screw the rest of it.
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Notes From The Cactus Patch 
I disagree, doctors and nurses know a lot. The problem is that most of us “experienced “ folks don’t care about what they think we should care about. Once during one of my 36 cardio rehab sessions, the therapist asked if I wanted to attend a dietary workshop afterward. As politely as possible I told her no. It took 83 years for my arteries to get plugged. Does she or my primary or my cardio doc think I’m at all worried about the veins getting reclogged in the brief time I may have left. So I’ll continue to keep a few ice cream cones one cupboard, a carton of Costco vanilla in the freezer, and a few bottles of wine in the cellar.
Glad Momo is carting you around and keeping you well nourished.
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Momo is a registered RN cardiac nurse, so she knows how to take care of me. We did purchase the Western Flyer Red wagon at Walmart not long ago, so we are somewhat ready for the moment when it happens. I’m hurrying to write the last or the family history before my brain turns to oatmeal. It’s quite the race, and I’m falling behind a bit, need better whiskey or more sleep.
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Yessir. Darn those cognitivial tests. Love that last sentence. ~Ed.
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Yeah, Ed, I may not take the next one, Ima so wound up tight as a nickle rat tonight that Momo slipped me two Valium and Im still awake. Geeez.
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I am NOT Looking forward to a blog post entitled “Momo is now pulling me around in a wagon with a drool sponge taped to my chin.” But if it should ever get to that point, just be sure to follow Lee Marvin, Clint Eastwood, and Jean Seberg’s advice: Paint your wagon! (That would at least add some color to the post, which would, of course, be music to our ears. Eye think so, anyway…)
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I’ve always been that Wandering Star, just like lee. That song was number 1 on the charts for weeks. I dug that movie, and still do.
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Monkeys and fish and ice cream cones…I’d fail. Oh geez Phil…I’ve left my car keys in the fridge a year or so ago. Should I worry?
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No worry, Max, the cold keeps the battery charged, and you can always find them when looking for the ice cream.
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A couple of years ago during my routine physical, I forgot one of the words in the cognitive test. That threw me a bit, but I decided everybody forgets something so I didn’t let it bother me for a long. The next time I was there, the nurse said she was going to give me a cognitive test and I told her I wasn’t interested and would not be taking the test. She looked at me plainly surprised and asked me why I didn’t want the test. I told her the conditions for their cognitive test are far from fair and balanced. We are sitting in a cold, sterile exam room, patients are nervous enough as it is and the pressure is on. Chances of me thinking clearly at that moment aren’t great and the results would not be good indication of my cognitive awareness. I guess that was a good enough answer for them because they never asked me to take another cognitive test again. If the subject comes up in the future, you can be sure I will decline. They can’t force us to do anything that makes us uncomfortable.
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I may forgo the next one, I feel stupid enough after today.
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Happily he didn’t give you a humorectomy.
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