I am sitting on my couch, speaking into my phone today, because I am icing my arm. I have a very serious medical condition. You know how this delights me.
Yesterday afternoon, I went to my doctor. Fortunately for me, he’s right across the street from work, so I can just pop in there any old time. At this point, they have a special room for me, and I go in early so I can chat up all the receptionists about their love lives.
I had gone for a followup on my broken toe, and because some of my medication was giving me headaches.
My beleaguered doctor looked at all that stuff, asked me questions from his giant scroll of June medical events, and then at the very last minute, I said, “Oh, by the way, my elbow hurts all the time. Just constantly. I believe it’s elbow cancer.”
My doctor, who is hilarious, has told me that I have two choices: He can be hilarious and I can not ever ever quote him on this blog ever, or he can be all professional and medical with me and I will have nothing to report to you anyway. I have opted for door number one. But just know he has several ridik things to say to me whenever I am there, including my diagnosis of elbow cancer.
My doctor is as over me as any doctor ever is. I have not told him about the streak of doctor suicides I have been responsible for. Or about the two doctors who have quit the medical profession altogether.
Anyway, he was basically not believing there was anything wrong with me, until he touched my elbow. “Wow, it’s swollen!”
After many invasive medical tests and procedures, after a team of experts were flown in from across the globe, it has been determined that I have tennis elbow.
I realize that I have never played tennis in my life, except for when they forced me to in gym class in the 10th grade. Nevertheless, I have a sports injury.
I’ve been trying to think of what repetitive motion I have done to my stupid arm to warrant this major medical condition. As far as I can remember, it just hangs limply on my motionless side. It’s not like I’m out there athletic-ing the world.
I got planter fasciitis when I don’t run. I broke a toe by walking into the dog’s bone. And now I have tennis elbow and I couldn’t even tell you where there’s a tennis court in this town.
Maybe I sleepwalk, and at night I’m a tennis pro somewhere around here. I am Greensboro’s Yvonne Goolagong. My doctor did, in fact, once tell me I had iron-poor blood.
When we were just wrapping up college circa 1989, my roommate Sandy filled out an application for a job, and made the mistake of letting it lie around so I could see it. She listed her hobbies as racquetball and watercolor painting.
When she got home, I chastised her for leaving her racquet all around the house. “And I suppose you’re going to whip up that easel again.”
Anyway, that’s me. Having hobbies that I don’t actually do. That my body is paying for. By the way, she got that job. Worked at that place for 18 years. I always threatened to call and tell them that she had never watercolor-painted one thing in her goddamn life.
Her hobbies included putting on her pajamas and watching “A Current Affair.” And drinking and makeup shopping with me.
Anyway, that sums up my current medical condition. Someone on Facebook last night already determined that our ribbon should be tennis-ball yellow. You guys are wearing a lot of Rubens lately. Ribbons. Jesus. I’ve been wearing a lot of Reubens. What hips?
I leave you with pictures of my animals being aggressive to each other. Last night, Lily was licking the spot on Edsel’s leg that he won’t stop licking. Anyway, it offended Edsel and all of his people through time. All of the ancient Edsels through history rose up from the grave to glare at Lily over this.
Here’s Steely Dan chomping the butt parts of poor Iris.
And that is my life today.