I went to see my doctor yesterday. We are new to one another and we needed a pow-wow. The last time I was there, I handed him a box with about 10 pounds of paper medical records in it. I think, page for page, it’s up there with “War and Peace,” but probably not nearly as entertaining.
We got a lot of stuff worked out. I got the prescriptions I needed. We talked.
I had a headache. I had it while I was there and it got worse when I got home. By the middle of the afternoon, my stomach was doing flip-flops and my head was pounding. I felt sick. How could that be? I just came back from the doctor.
This morning, Garry work up, elbowed me in the ribs, told me he felt awful. Then he rolled over and went back to sleep. That was his secret code for “Reschedule my dentist appointment and make excuses for me — and don’t wake me until dinner. Maybe not even then.”
I rescheduled the dentist, came out to give the Duke his undeserved morning treat. I fed the birds, hosed down the deck. Watered the flowerboxes. How did this go from me not feeling well to Garry not feeling well?
By the time I sat down with the laptop, an English muffin and a big cup of coffee, I realized I was feeling better.
I was at the doctor. How come I didn’t feel sick until I got home?
Don’t you hate when this happens?