The Medical Mystery Maze

And so it shall come to pass, as we grow older, more “things” start to go wrong.  I say “things” because do the doctors ever really know what’s going on?  They have their medical degrees and their residencies and their practices of long-standing.  I have Google.  Or as my primary care doctor likes to call it “Dr. Google.”  How right she is!

Now, despite the two cancers and Covid, I’m a great believer that nothing is going to go wrong with me, that some day I shall just say, “Bye, bye, Earth,” and make a quick exit.  Are the doctors determined to prove me wrong by ordering test after test, where it seems everything is not working to the perfection for which I am well known?

Let me tell you why it would upset me now if my body deigned to betray me—  My husband.  Fair warning:  This is going to sound selfish.  Those who know me know there’s not a selfish bone in my body, unless you take the last slice of pizza or order the most expensive item on the menu and then ask to split the check evenly.  You know of whom I speak!

For the last twelve years my husband and his health have been my major concern.  I have moved him hither and yon, trying to find the best fit for him; I’ve hired caregiver after caregiver, as I’ve watched the money, that should have financed our wonderful retirement, disappear into the void of eldercare.  Week after week, month after month, it’s bills, bills, bills.  I sit here and dole out the money, while I grow older and poorer, older and poorer.

Now something dares to go wrong with my body!  Is life unfair?  Yeah, well, we all know the answer to that one.

I now suspect that my husband might outlive me.  And, if this is the case, I shall be waiting for him in the great beyond with a sledge hammer.  But at least someone will be happy to see us go:  Medicare.